Love, Interrupted
by annabaker71
Summary: Ana forgets the first four months of her life with Christian after suffering a head injury at the hands of Jack Hyde. Christian, terrified she'll leave if she remembers how their relationship began, chooses to keep their past from her. He doesn't realize that's the least of his worries as danger hovers over their lives. No BDSM No cheating
1. Chapter 1

_The FSoG Trilogy and all characters therein belong to E. L. James. This story and all of its mistakes are mine._

 _Chapter One_

 _~Christian~_

" _Anastasia, are you willing to share your thoughts? Christian shocked you by contacting you and inviting you to dinner. Do you have anything that you would you like to say about that? Would you like to share your reaction to what he has told you?" John's voice was kind and gentle while he patiently coaxed Ana to acknowledge what I had anxiously revealed._

 _I sat on one of John's forest green, tufted couches, hoping that my body language radiated my sincerity. Trying to keep my eyes from blatantly and ferociously fixating on her spotless beauty, I looked everywhere, but at Ana. I examined every crease in John's curtains and every book on his massive bookshelves. I knew I couldn't afford to appear the slightest bit intimidating._

 _Nervously, I listened to the clock ticking as several torturous minutes passed. Ana was sitting beside me in a pale green winged back chair. A table holding a lamp and a box of tissues separated us. The grueling pain set in when I saw one of Ana's delicate hands reach for several tissues._

 _John gazed at Ana with compassion and cocked his head slightly. Ana remained silent._

" _May I presume that you're upset and overwhelmed, Anastasia? You told Christian the only way you would speak with him was in a neutral setting, along with someone to facilitate your conversation. Allow me to reassure you that are in a safe place and can say whatever you wish. Christian wants to know how you honestly feel. Do you feel comfortable enough to do that?" John asked, never heeding my presence._

 _Finally, Ana responded. Her voice was strong, and once again, I remembered how much I had missed hearing it._

" _Dr. Flynn, I'm not upset, per se. . . I am, however, confused. Well, dumbfounded is a more accurate description." Surprising me, Ana moved in such a way that we were facing one another. Her blue eyes were clear and sharp, and they pinned me to the sofa. I swallowed, hard. Her every word would shape my future. "Christian, your words. . . Um. . . Declaring that you have feelings for me, insofar as telling me that you're in love with me… each word contradicts your actions in the past month." Ana turned her head, quickly glanced at John, and then faced me again. "I don't feel overwhelmed in the slightest. I only question if you have a hidden agenda. What do you want from me now, Christian?" Ana regarded me warily, her face tired and forlorn. I wanted a flogger to self-flagellate knowing that I was the reason she looked so pained._

 _John raised an eyebrow and turned his unyielding stare at me. Those brown eyes of his were sending an unspoken message: Be utterly open and honest with her. You have but one chance, Grey, so don't blow it. I bowed my head. A plethora of atrocious outcomes resting heavily on my mind._

 _I inhaled deeply and prepared to excoriate myself again so Ana would believe how I felt about her. I had felt this way for a while, yet remained too blinded by hovering ghosts to admit it. Silently, I had to throw my terror away, and reinforce that not only was I in love with her, I was also disgusted with the manner in which I had treated Ana. If I had killed Anastasia's burgeoning love for me, I at least hoped for her forgiveness._

 _I raised my head to find that Ana was resolutely staring at me. Her blue eyes were a myriad of emotions and I couldn't discern a single one. She looked at me expectantly. I scooted closer to the edge of the couch so Ana could have a full look at me. She had to have clear access to the honesty on my face, and close enough to hear the shameful truth roll off my tongue. I had to devour Ana's heart and mind with the new-found love I had finally admitted. My unremitting remorse had to fully pierce her body so she would know I would never hurt her again. Ana had to know that I would roll around and linger on broken glass for a chance to start our relationship over. Anastasia had to believe that I would do anything to have her in my life. I would do anything and everything she asked of me._

" _Ana, I don't have an agenda. Well, other than regaining your trust, and another chance with you. I know that my words contradict the loathsome ways that I treated you, and I'll never forgive myself for that." I stopped talking and rigorously scrubbed my face. I hoped that I could get through this again without my desperation ruining it. "I've told you the truth, Ana. I am so fucking sorry for my behavior and that I hurt you. I'm so god damned sorry for the ways I hurt you emotionally, and physically. I knew that I felt something different with you, but I just never wanted to examine it because I was too fucking afraid. When we were together, John tried to tell me that my confusion over my feelings for you was the proof that I was falling in love with you. I scoffed at the notion." I had to stop and pull a large gulp from my bottled water. I hoped my shaking hands went unnoticed. "I always equated love with the horrid and beastly. I knew how I had lived my life, and never thought it was possible to change. . . I never considered changing. But you fell into my universe and life as I knew it changed. You have changed me and I will never be the same. I don't have any doubts that I'm willing to change for you. I am sorry for the way I acted when you told me that you'd fallen in love with me. I've spent my life feeling unlovable, and that I couldn't love another person. Regardless of how it tore my heart out when you left me, I never considered a life without BDSM. Ana, it took that morning for me to admit you didn't deserve what I wanted from you. And you sure as fuck didn't deserve a man like me. I know I'm probably rambling, Ana. My words are chaos in my head, but I'm telling you the truth; yet, undoubtedly I know you're ambivalent about everything—"_

 _Ana threw her hands up, her palms facing me, and I immediately shut up. A glare was marring her beautiful face._

" _Ambivalent, Christian? I'm not ambivalent in the least. Do you want to know what I am? Do you want to hear about my filthy confessions?" she snapped at me. Despite fighting with myself, my calm exterior began to feel as though it was crumbling, and I felt myself scowling at her. I silently nodded for Ana to continue._

" _I am unabashedly hurt, embarrassed, disgusted. . . humiliated," Ana began, her voice cracking. "Although I'm harnessed by these feelings, they weren't brought about by you, Christian. No, I invited each of those grotesque, shit stained feelings into my life when I said that I would try this submissive shit. I knew that I was far from being pliant, docile, subdued. . . those lovely synonyms you emailed me when you were trying to sell me on the joys of being your submissive. Had you taken off your Dom-colored glasses in the early days of getting to know me, you would have known that I am simply shy. . . I have insecurities that intimidating people and certain situations can bring out. You shouldn't have misconstrued those traits and believed I was submissive," Anastasia divulged, tears were streaming down her face. "I was physically attracted to you from the moment we met, and it was a new feeling to me, one that left me flustered. You only saw my behavior fitting for what you wanted, and without regard for me. You saw me as a challenge that you could break down, and build back as the Christian Grey version."_

 _Ana began to sob so hard that John called for his secretary to bring her some water, and gave her the box of tissues. I wanted to take her into my arms and comfort her, to kiss her hair, and tell her what she believed wasn't true; however, I couldn't, and had to bear witness to what a selfish piece of shit inflicts on another person. I sat resigned that Ana would never forgive me, or give me another chance, and a defeated piece of my new-found soul knew that she shouldn't. I watched Ana's chest heave frantically while she wept, furiously attempting to regain her self-control while John knelt beside her, speaking to her in a hushed voice. The guilt intensified. It began to burn through my skin._

 _After what seemed like forever, John calmed Ana down. I had reservations we should continue and watched Ana down her bottled water. I cut her off before she could resume speaking._

" _Ana, please believe I didn't intend on bringing you here to upset you any further. Watching your distress is unsettling. Perhaps we should continue our discussion another day. . . or not at all," I reasoned, only to be met with Ana stubbornly raising her chin in defiance._

" _No. I'm saying this. I need to tell you so I can get it off my chest. You have had Dr. Flynn to discuss your shit with, while I've been sitting in an empty apartment, denied the opportunity to work through my pain with anyone because of you and your precious NDA. No, Christian, you've had your time on the floor and I'd appreciate my own."_

" _Anastasia, are you sure that you'd like to continue? I tend to agree with Christian on this. This wasn't meant to distress you," John replied, compassion on each word._

 _Ana nodded. "I've been waiting a while to say all of this to Christian, and I refuse to squander this opportunity," she said sardonically and looked me straight in the eyes. "Christian, when I described feeling hurt and embarrassed, I didn't mean that's how you made me feel. I'm wracked with those feelings because of what I allowed myself to do, and what I partook in. I couldn't make any sense of falling in love with you, and being terrified of you at the same time. It was a paradox—"_

 _Her words stole my breath. Terrified of me?_

" _Wait a minute. Hold up," I muttered, shaking my head in confusion as I interrupted her. "I terrified you? I don't understand, Ana."_

" _Christian, let us allow Anastasia to finish her thoughts. You can ask her to elaborate afterward if she's willing." John looked at me blandly and told Ana to continue._

" _Yes, you terrified me, Christian. Your entire sex life terrified me and don't correct me by saying that bullshit is a lifestyle. Your lectures and your packet of rules are transparent and ridiculous. Yeah, you have an alternative sex life. To each their own and all that jazz. What people like to do in private isn't my business, yet you've been brainwashed to believe your sex life rules your world and is the only way you handle your life. But that calls for a private session with you and Dr. Flynn." Ana laughed bitterly, visibly amused by her own beliefs about the BDSM lifestyle. I can't say it didn't irritate the fuck out of me. Being a Dominant isn't a choice that I made; I was born a Dominant. "I'll rewind to how I gave in to you. How I sat back and lackadaisically handed you my free will. Admittedly, I couldn't understand what a multi-billionaire saw in me, a girl who hadn't even graduated college and shopped at Wal Mart. You remained in my thoughts because you kept popping up out of nowhere. My dumb ass wondered if I was the reason you seemed to have abandoned Seattle. I accept the blame for seeing a charming, handsome man, and becoming entranced with him. Going for coffee and you taking an interest in my life, books worth a fortune, what I thought was a simple date ended up being a helicopter ride to Seattle. I'm not a hypocrite or a liar, so I reiterate that I walked into this fucked up shit with my eyes wide open. I was easily dazzled by your wealth, the so-called glitz and glamour, and the next thing I knew, I was the equivalent of a bloody spot on your sheets."_

" _I don't see you as a young woman who would deny any complicity considering your time with Christian. During our sessions this past month, Christian has accurately portrayed the young woman who I see before me. But do you care to expound on how Christian scared you? Was it the BDSM that you were afraid of?" John asked Ana. My thoughts were spiraling out of control. I couldn't wrap my mind around Anastasia being afraid of me. That's bullshit, Grey. You wanted to intimidate her._

" _The BDSM terrified me. I never trusted Christian in his red room of pain. He couldn't see the fear in my eyes because I was always blindfolded, and I assume when the blindfold was removed, he took my tears as those of post-orgasmic euphoria," Ana spit her words, her eyes glistened with tears. "I only say that because I never had an orgasm in your playroom. The only time I did was the first time we had sex. How does that make Sir feel? To know a woman faked it with the sub whisperer? The only time I wasn't afraid when we had sex was the night I gave Christian my virginity, which was also the only time we had normal sex. Excuse me, Christian. . . I should have said vanilla sex. Christian, have you told Dr. Flynn, that save for that one night, we only engaged in BDSM sex?" Ana's tone was unforgiving, and her glare accusatory. The fact that Anastasia had never orgasmed after our first night together left me speechless. I thought that Ana. . ._

" _Yes, Christian has." I barely heard John answer Ana._

 _Ana's eyes began to water, and she dabbed at them rapidly. The agony and regret Ana had accrued during our month together was all over her precious face, and so heartbreakingly painful to acknowledge._

" _I was so dumb the night I gave you my virginity. I thought that would make you change, or at least, change what you wanted to do to me. When you first showed me the so-called playroom and told me what you wanted to do with me, my knees buckled from fear. But for two weeks, you had made me feel differently. . . as though you liked me and enjoyed being around me. I naively believed you wanted to date me, even if you always make cryptic remarks about your no girlfriend clause. I should have spotted how you subtly changed that first night at your penthouse. You referred to taking my virginity as a situation you needed to rectify. Do you realize how that hurt me? God, I should have kicked rocks the minute you said that," Ana whispered through her tears. Gutted, had I been near a gun, I would have ended my life. "The minute you pulled your dick out of me that night, you became a cold and distant asshole. I assume that's who you really are: Christian Grey, a despotic and omnipotent Dominant. By then, I was already a goner, though. I might as well have sold my soul to the devil the night I agreed to give this submission crap a shot. All I really wanted was your time. I thought if I capitulated to what you wanted, you would develop feelings for me. I was so stupid." Anastasia stopped whispering the caustic words that had eaten my flesh and exposed my bones. Her pain was so unvarnished, and it filled Flynn's office. It took her several minutes to regain her composure and continue. "The only way that I knew I might catch a scrap of your affection was to abandon my values and self-esteem and do what you wanted. And to do that, I forced myself to replay memories of the man I initially met. That man. . . I would go to Escala with an urge to vomit because I knew you only saw me as a. . . pet? I honestly don't know. And as the weeks went by, you made each of those scenes more intense, and I could feel you were barely holding your true self back. I knew you wanted to hurt me, Christian. That was what I just didn't understand, why you wanted to hurt me, and why I had fallen in love with you."_

 _Long before Ana finished speaking, I had slumped back in the couch, too shocked to articulate a sentence. I felt like a dead man walking. No, I wanted to be a man, very much alive and walking head on towards an oncoming train. What had I done to this wonderful and loving young woman? There wasn't a doubt in my mind that the love Anastasia believed herself to have for me was now dead. I would never have the chance to get her back, to treat her properly, to have a normal and loving relationship._

 _The room remained silent until Ana asked for another bottled water. I watched as she pulled her faded, navy cardigan tighter around herself, and noticed that she was slightly shivering. John didn't seem to have any desire to break the eerie calm or stifling tension, and his attention remained focused on Anastasia._

" _Anastasia, do you have anything else you would like to say to Christian?" John quietly prodded. Ana's eyes locked on something over his shoulder. Although I waited for her answer with bated breath, I was still lost in the words Ana had spoken. Oh, how they rightfully punished me._

" _Why me?" she asked softly, startling me so much that I jumped. Ana had slid back in the chair and I could no longer see her face._

 _Confusion stopped my tongue. I knew damn well what Ana wanted to know, but I didn't know what to fucking say. I god damned knew what I didn't want to say, though. John noticed that my eyes were pleading for him to help me, guide me, or kill me. My declaration of having hidden my feelings for Ana meant nothing after everything she had said. Leaning back in his chair, John crossed his legs and stared at me. He was telling me to shit or get off the pot and I knew it._

" _Ana, I . . . I saw you, and I was instantly attracted to you. You refuse to take a compliment, but you truly are a beautiful woman. Then you opened up your lively mouth, and every witty and intelligent syllable that came out of it drew me in further. I've long since admitted that I mistakenly took your personality as submissive," I say, then deeply exhale. "I was enthralled by you, Ana. Who couldn't be? You caught my attention, and, yes, I know that wasn't the kind of attention you wanted. But no other woman has ever caught my attention like you. No one has ever made me feel the way that you do—"_

" _Yes, you have already told me that." she snapped, quickly interrupting me. "I want to know how you set about to play me, and not because I want to get angry or instigate an argument. I'm sincerely curious. What was your plan? Tell me how you executed it."_

 _I didn't like those questions. It felt like Ana was leading me down an undiscovered path, and I wasn't keen on making the trip. John's brows lifted to the ceiling. I knew he was waiting to see if I told Ana the truth; the reason I pursued her._

" _Brutal honesty, Christian. Give me this, and a few more answers. Please, and I'll answer your question. I know that this seems like I'm trying to play a game, but I'm not. They're just questions, and Christian, you damn well know my answer. So please, just indulge me with the truth."_

 _So in John Flynn's office - I, Christian Grey, had to sit and quickly decide if I should give her that brutal honesty she wanted. I couldn't tell Ana the reason I wanted her. I couldn't confess it was because she was a beautiful, brunette young woman, like the previous fifteen. I couldn't give that dastardly truth to the woman who I loved. It would disgust her, and there would be no way Ana would take me back. And being the selfish bastard whom I am, and in front of John, who knew the truth, I lied to her._

" _I used your naiveté against you, employing the strong, physical attraction we had for one another, and I seduced you with one purpose in mind. I recognized your inexperience and knew you hadn't explored your sexuality, and I brought out every skill I possess for the sole purpose of abusing the trust you had mistakenly placed in me. I knew you didn't stand a chance in hell when it came to resisting my advances, and after seeing how well you responded to me when I took your virginity, it was obvious that I had you in my web. Deep down, I knew what I was doing was wrong, and that taking a person as loving and pure as you down the dark road of my life was cruel. Yet, I'm so selfish I had to have you. You're right. I wanted to train you so you'd be my perfect sub- a sub who could satisfy my sadistic appetite," I said, self-loathing and putrid, self-hatred in my words._

" _Christian," John starts before I can continue. "You are not a sadist. I've told you, I've told you, and I've told you. Think about it, Christian. Would we be here if you were a sadist? If you were a sadist, do you believe you would have felt the way you have for the past five days? Of course, you wouldn't. You hurt Anastasia, you regret it horribly, and have suffered the consequences. A sadist wouldn't care! A sadist wouldn't be in his psychiatrist's office willingly expressing his love for a woman that he belted. How many years will it take before that fact sticks in your brilliant mind?" He asked exasperated._

" _He'll probably never believe it, Dr. Flynn. He always believes the worst about himself," Anastasia's small voice says from the opposite side of the lamp. John smiled at her kindly and then laughed._

" _Anastasia knows you well, Christian. She's a shrewd young woman." John's words were a warning: You lied to her about petite, brunette women, and she will find out._

" _Christian, I'm going to tell you something. . . about the afternoon I returned from Georgia. I didn't confront you, but at this point, that doesn't matter. It's what I believe it. . . When you took me to Esclava, and after I accosted your Mrs. Robinson, I heard her tell you that my behavior, no matter how slow you were taking things with me, had earned me a much-deserved punishment," Ana murmured, causing my head to jerk towards her. I had no idea Ana was still close enough to Elena and me to have heard that. My stomach dropped to my ass. I hadn't told John about that, and my face felt the heat from the questioning look he had thrown my way. I also knew what Anastasia was going to ask me. "When I told you that I wanted to know if I could be a real submissive like Mrs. Robinson had been for you, and the way your fifteen subs had been able to take your harsh punishments… were you so willing because of what the pedophile told you? For weeks, you had stood steadfast about no punishments, yet the minute I offered myself as your sacrificial lamb, you practically pulled my arm out of socket pulling me to your playroom. You weren't just willing and eager, you also broke your promise that you'd never hurt me more than I could stand. Yes, I take half of the blame because I asked for it, and I didn't safeword. But did that pedophile put a bug in your ear to punish me and you listened to her?"_

 _If I visibly reacted, John would pick up on it instantly and know the truth. For whatever reason, I felt the compulsion to lie - yet again. Perhaps I was trying to protect Elena, but, whatever the reason, I couldn't tell Ana the truth. I was happy we were still separated by the fucking table and that the lamp blocked me from her view. I didn't want to lie to her face._

" _No. No. What she said had nothing to do with my actions," I replied, trying to maintain the same tone of voice I'd had all evening. "It was a blinding, rash decision. I-It was all my fault, Ana. I'm so sorry."_

" _So you didn't jump into the ocean of Mrs. Lincoln's advice, Christian?" John asked me, unconvinced._

 _Scowling, I forced myself to look at him. His face wore no expression and it was a blank look I knew all too well. John knew I was lying._

" _I didn't jump into anything, John," I answered tersely. Becoming agitated, I shuffled my body on the couch, and John knowingly raised an eyebrow at me. I knew how fucked I was and he was probably regretting that he ever agreed to help me win Ana back. I didn't deserve her, and I was only shoving that truth into the ground._

" _Enough of Mrs. Robinson. It sickens me to think about your best friend," Ana broke in, suddenly standing, and positioning herself in front of me. "How did you feel hitting me?" she asked, her blue eyes mirrors of tears._

 _I never expected Anastasia to ask me this, and it left me speechless. From the look on John's face, neither did he. I stared at her wide eyed, unsure of myself, and having no desire to recall that horrible morning. Ana's eyes scattered across me, examining my face, while she waited for my answer. Her small frame, so lovely and unassuming, was wrenching the truth from me. After an oppressive silence, I decided to tell her the god damned, sickening truth._

 _Clearing my throat, I glanced around the carpet before meeting her engulfing eyes._

" _I didn't understand why you suddenly wanted me to punish you. I was so confused, yet I looked at you and saw your stubborn resolve. I told myself you were asking for it, and that was enough reason to abandon how I promised you we'd slowly work up to the harsher aspects. I saw it as the way to show you what I needed, and the thought of punishing you turned me on. Once we were in the playroom and I asked if you were sure about doing it, I was already feeling ecstatic. When you told me you were ready, I became hard as a rock. Hearing the snap of the first blow made me euphoric; watching the pink welt appear was when I became so excited that I zoned out, and lost control of myself. I vaguely heard your cries, and how you shouted when you counted as I had instructed you too. I was enjoying myself too much to check on you, to see that you—"_

" _Couldn't take it?" Ana asked in a quiet voice, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I suffered through it for you. I wanted to please you like all the others before me. To make you happy because I loved you." Her gaze is intense, and we never broke eye contact._

 _There was a golf ball in my throat, swelling to the point where I could barely speak, but Ana said the word, and I had to ask._

" _Loved?" I managed to murmur. Anticipation flooded and overwhelmed me._

 _Ana wiped the tears from her face and shook her head. All it took to shatter my world was for her to shake her head no._

" _Not loved. . . love," she replied softly_

 _Hope grabbed me by the waist since I was about to leap from the couch and take Ana in my arms. I knew I had to hold off because this conversation was far from over. We continued staring at one another, and I forgot John was in the room until he broke the silence._

" _Anastasia, why don't you take a seat beside Christian on the couch, and we can see if you have a way to move forward in a relationship. You told him from the beginning that you had stipulations."_

 _Quickly, I moved to the far end of the couch to keep Ana from feeling uncomfortable by being near me. Shockingly, Ana sat down beside me, our legs touching. I felt an electrical current run through me, and I inhaled deeply. Anastasia's sweet, familiar scent filled my senses. Ana turned towards me, putting one of her small, soft hands on top of mine, and I nearly lost it._

" _Christian, your subs were masochists, but I'm not, and I never will be. Consensual, contractual, or whatever it is you call it, I call it subjugation. I consider your explanations of submission to fall flat. In order for us to start a real relationship, I can't have you dictate my life, and I won't be subservient to you," Ana told me veraciously. "Does that fall under you taking me anyway that you can?"_

 _I grabbed both of her hands and held on for dear life. "Yes, Anastasia. Anything." I replied hastily, but watched as Ana looked down._

" _There's more, Christian, and this may change your mind. It's my hard limit and non-negotiable. I won't live under the umbrella of your invisible rules or punishments. I don't enjoy any aspect of your sexual lifestyle and want nothing to do with it. Maybe you'll find my conservative values boring like I find your preferred sex life disturbing, but I won't be tied up just playing around in bed. I don't want anal beads up my ass just to spice up your so-called vanilla sex." Ana looked up and stopped speaking. I knew it was to gauge my reaction. I never let go of her hands and couldn't have cared less about fucking anal beads. "I won't be spanked and then fucked. I've been fucked, but no one has ever made love to me, and that's deserve. If that means I cannot be what you need, then it means you cannot be what I want."_

 _There was never a choice. It would always be Anastasia and I would always be saddled by the lies that I told her._

 _End of flashback_

My gut clamps harder with each fleeting look at the time – Ana will be here soon. They are unaware that I'm running on autopilot and borrowed time. I understand the magnitude of the problem in front of us, and I am utilizing any leftover brain matter that I possess to figure this shit out. Yet, the truth is that I have disassociated myself from the issue and those around me. My mind, along with every neuron in my brain, is rapidly firing to deal with my main problem. No, what currently controls and terrifies me cannot be defined as a problem. This is no fucking problem. This is my life - my present and my future. This is why I have chewed the inside of my cheek all day and swallowed blood. I have walked a tightrope today, knowing that my existence depends upon the mercy of another, and that person is approaching my apartment as time marches on.

" _No! . . . It's time for you to choose. . . I refuse to put up with this any longer!"_

I could have answered Ana last night if I could have reached her before the elevator doors shut. There wasn't anything that I needed to mull over. I never had to think about it or consider what I wanted. Yet, Ana has refused to talk to me today or allowed me to tell her how I feel. Why? Have I been wrong to believe that our relationship is solid? Did she misconstrue my words from last night? I'm appalled that my behavior has only amplified Ana's feelings of insecurity, but why didn't she have the faith to entrust her innermost fears with me? Have my actions cost me Ana's trust?

"Mr. Grey, I was only clarifying your stance on the police—"

It takes a deep and annoyed breath to control the urge to erupt on Welch for shattering my thoughts of Anastasia and our current situation. But I don't have the idiotic notion that I'm allowed to ignore this disaster. It's time to coax my head back into the game before me. I pinch the bridge of my nose, hard.

Concurrently, my life consists of two birds and not a single fucking stone.

"Seattle's finest can only speculate that Boeing has given us their video surveillance," I interrupt Welch sharply. "Your assessment of Boeing is correct; however, I didn't need a fucking report to tell me that Boeing won't admit to committing an illegal act to the police. Do you think they're willing to hand their ass to the cops? Besides, they're astute and know not to piss me off any further. Boeing knows that firing ncompetent security guards doesn't appease me. They're aware they fucked up by allowing that fucker to gain access to my hanger." Sighing loudly, my tired eyes roam the faces of the three men sitting opposite of me. I wish they would all just get the fuck out of here. "We watched that prick breach Boeing's security to reach Charlie Tango and sabotage it. Likewise, I also don't care that the NTSB is taking the lead on the investigation. They've behaved like typical, arrogant, government fucks who don't give a shit that someone tried to kill me. This is fucking personal. End of story." I cautiously recline my leather chair. It has been two days since the crash and my back is killing me. An aching back is the least of my concerns, though. My main concern is due to make landfall in less than half an hour.

I've spent hours in my home office with Taylor, Welch, and Barney. We've gone blind studying the grainy video surveillance of the masked asshole who tried to kill me. Had this panty-waste succeeded, Ros would be dead as well. The thought causes my blood to boil. When we find out who this prick is, and we will find out, he's going to pay dearly.

Trying to uncover the person who attempted to kill me, along with what their motive could be, is disturbingly confounding. Yes, I've fucked a lot of people over in the business world, but is that enough to compel some douche to want me dead? Taylor and Welch look exhausted from two nights without sleep, and Welch looks tense. He isn't as comfortable as I am to bend rules and regulations to get around the NTSB. I don't need Welch to advise me that we don't have a valid a reason to distrust the NTSB's competency, yet it's asinine for him to assume that I would be amendable to the fucking idea of being spoon-fed snippets of information. Has Welch met me? Christ. He starts to open his mouth, but thinks better of it and closes it quickly. He knows that I'm already fed up hearing that his guys will find out something soon. My definition of the word soon is yesterday.

Once again, I anxiously eye the time on my laptop. Anastasia should have left work by now and on her way here. She typically calls me once her work day ends, although I have more than a hunch that she won't be calling this evening. I've become accustomed to our verbal sparring via email throughout our work days, but, today, our witty exchanges have been non-existent. Today, Ana's replies to my texts and emails have been short and curt, our contact minimal. To no avail, I have pleaded with her to talk to me, and she refused to have lunch with me as well. Dismissing me, Ana said we will discuss everything this evening. And here I sit, captive to a clock and besieged with fear. It won't be a discussion, though. It will be a simple answer to what Ana demanded of me last night. I've been a ball of knots all day, ready for this shit to come to a head. I haven't felt so helpless since those five days after Ana left me months ago.

I listen in silence as my men continue speculating on who could be behind the sabotage of Charlie Tango. My patience is too frail to hold any interest in their words, and sitting in one spot all day has exacerbated my aching back. Hoping to find a bottle of pain killers, I rummage through my desk drawers and loudly curse when I can't find any. Standing carefully, I grumble an excuse and make my way to the bathroom, not quite limping. Fortunately, I find a bottle of Tylenol. Pouring two in my hand, I swallow them without water and notice Ana's hairbrush near the sink. There are a few strands of her silky hair in its soft bristles, and I ludicrously catch myself in the mirror smelling the hairbrush. Ana's scent covers it. I muster up a small smile despite the pesky sense of anxiousness that I feel. I want Ana to emerge from the elevator, happily bounce into my arms, and allow me to clarify that she always comes first in my life. I understand why she felt as though she had to give me an ultimatum, and I will never forgive myself that I was complicit in making Ana feel this way. My soul and entire being have coalesced with Anastasia's, and my existence would combust if she were to ever leave me; especially if she left because I have hurt her. I've already experienced that hell and I couldn't survive it again.

Shoving those awful memories out of my head, I make my way back to my office, morose attitude in tow. I walk in on Welch and Taylor arguing with Barney over the perp's body type and stance. Sliding carefully down the back of my chair, I again tune them all out, and glance again at the time. Someone trying to kill me belongs at the very top of my list of worries, but it's nowhere near it. In fact, if I wasn't forced to deal with the issue of the security team's constant presence today, I would have spent my day encased in terror. My impenetrable bond with Anastasia Rose Steele could be whimpering to hell by Elena Lincoln's unexpected visit to my penthouse last night, and the consequences it wrought. I am berating myself for once again being the reason that Ana's feelings are hemorrhaging. However harsh it sounds to Ana, I still repudiate her claims that Elena is a pedophile that ruined my life. Yet, Ana is already so diffident to anything regarding my old life that there is nothing that I can say or do to ease her insecurities. Last night, Ana finally told me that my relationship with Elena only exaggerates those insecurities and it is time I decide which one of them is more important to me. Dr. John Flynn had predicted this day would come and I refused to listen.

Still shaken from my near death experience, Anastasia skipped work yesterday. In the morning, Ana lovingly declared that the entire day would be devoted to taking care of me. Later that evening, Ana cheerfully kicked Gail out of the kitchen, prepared my favorite meal, and set the table for an intimate, candlelight dinner for us. But our romantic evening ended with breakneck speed when Reynolds announced that Elena was on her way up. It wasn't necessary to look at Ana to know her expression was one of rabid fury. Our romantic evening, which would have been perfect due to Ana's thoughtful planning, ended disastrously even before Elena strolled in my penthouse. Ana and I waited for Elena's imminent arrival in deathlike silence. Ana's revulsion and loathing was vibrating off the kitchen walls.

Yesterday, I split my time organizing the retrieval of Charlie Tango and trying to relax with Anastasia. Elena, whom Ana openly and vehemently loathes, called me several times. I quickly rejected each call that flashed Elena's name on the display screen on my phone. Fuck, Elena only wanted to reassure herself that I was okay, but I knew what Ana's reaction would have been had I answered a call from Elena in her presence. I wasn't in the frame of mind to fight with Ana; consequently, I sent each of Elena's calls to voicemail. Looking back, I should have answered one of her fucking calls. It would have prevented her unforeseen visit to my penthouse and this threat to my relationship with Anastasia.

I knew that last night's dinner would be thrown in the trash as soon as Reynolds said Elena's name. But considering that I was nearly killed, what did Ana expect? Elena is strictly my friend, and as such, she came to see how I was doing. As obvious as that should have been to Ana, her white-knuckled grip on the butcher knife she was holding, along with the food that was later scattered on my kitchen floor, proved otherwise. The hostile way that my innocent Ana stared Elena down didn't surprise me considering how vile Ana believes Elena to be. What did shock me was Ana sarcastically suggesting that Elena and I should have the nice, intimate dinner she had prepared, while Elena stood there looking at me as if I should put Ana in her place. When will that woman realize that Ana is not my sub?

How did I handle last night's uncomfortable situation? I asked Elena if she wanted a glass of wine and slowly took a peek at Ana. There was a mixture of hurt and anger in her eyes. Those big, blue eyes never left mine, and after an interminable moment or two, Ana startlingly threw her glass of wine at the kitchen wall, storming from the room, and leaving me to amend the debacle with Elena. I knew then that Ana was no longer going to take being made to feel like this.

Disturbingly, for some unknown reason, Anastasia's behavior affronted me and I found it appalling. Appalling? How could I not put myself in Ana's shoes and understand where she was coming from? Instead, I took an exception with it, and experienced an emotion that I thought I had rid myself of months earlier. A comfortable, palpable anger pulsated throughout my body, and horrifically, I wanted to punish Ana. How the fuck could I still have that sickness floating through my blood when hurting Ana, whom I love more than myself, is the reason she left me? After my shocking thoughts abated, I surreptitiously calmed myself and remembered I wasn't that man. I believed that I'd escaped those urges towards any woman. After I mentally beat the shit out of myself because that familiar feeling bled through, I remembered John asking me what I wanted to be and the answer was simple: A normal man.

I inwardly groan when I recall the years I spent getting off by debasing women. I planned various scenes with my subs and all to end painfully for them. I can now admit that I sniffed out the weaknesses of each of my submissives. Knowing those weak spots allowed me to easily lead a sub to break one of my rules and I could beat the fuck out of them. They spent the weekend willingly being demeaned by me, all the while serving as my receptacle. I had zero interest in them or their lives, and often didn't acknowledge them outside of my playroom. Unforgivable. God, why did I live my life that way? Why couldn't I just have been born a man who would have asked Anastasia Steele out for dinner and a movie? No, I had to crave trussing her up, fucking her, and beating the shit out of her? Why did I have to feel that way, and want that kind of life? Why couldn't have I been a normal person that didn't thrive upon inflicting pain? Why, why, why?

Last night's fiasco, and the feelings it brought about will be my next session with John, who is still delving into why I lied to Ana the night we reconciled. The simple and honest answer is that I believed she wouldn't have taken me back if I'd have told her the truth. It wasn't my past and perverse obsession with brunette young women that John nearly fired me over, it was me not coming clean with him over the day I took Ana to Esclava, and what Ana overheard Elena tell me. John may think that I deliberately didn't share that with him, but that isn't the case. I only had one thing on my mind, and that was asking Ana for another chance. The questions she asked took me by surprise and when Anastasia threw them at me, I reverted to Christian Grey's tried and true methods of getting what I want – I lied through my teeth. Living with those two dark clouds over my head remind me daily of what I stand to lose, and Dr. John Flynn reminds me four times a week that the truth has a funny way of coming out in the wash. It didn't take five fucking days to entirely change me and my innate personality. It's taken me months of taking Flynn's suggestions seriously and finally working on my issues. When I reconciled with Ana, I was only begrudgingly considering that I was worthy of another person's love, and for a quite a while, I was still considering it; I had not been convinced. Over time, I stopped questioning how a selfless angel like Anastasia Steele could love me, and the perplexity I felt when she told me that she loved me abated. The effortless choice was to leave the stagnate D/s contractual relationships and have a loving one with Anastasia. There is nothing in this world that comes close to what Ana and I are building, and she doesn't deserve anything less. It's true that I had to tune out Elena's constant lectures that emotions are messy and only serve to complicate people's lives. Ultimately, it was Ana's candor and her honest affirmations of never leaving me that proved that Elena's logic no longer applies to me.

Anastasia and I are navigating this relationship without prior experience and initially blindly groped our way through it. We spent weeks pushing each other's buttons and poking one another's sore spots, until Ana put her foot down and said we had to begin couple's therapy with John. It's true, I would bring about a full-fledged offensive to oust anyone or anything that could blight our relationship. Everything about Ana enraptures me and she will never slip through my fingers again. We are irrevocably in love with one another and I'll be a mother fucker before I allow either one of us to fuck this up. This woman has brought me to life. Her beguiling essence has seized my existence, and given me a glimpse of being a normal man in a normal relationship. Isn't that what a normal relationship is? Two people in love, who are committed to one another and do their best to make each other happy? I only wish I could erase the stench of my past, so Anastasia would no longer be plagued with the insecurities it causes her. After three months together, Ana still tells me she fears that she isn't what I need, and that is far beyond the truth. So far, nothing has alleviated Anastasia's insecurities over the life I led, and especially over Elena. John plainly told me that allowing Elena in my life, regardless if we are only friends, only hurts Ana, and it was up to me to resolve that situation.

Our last few joint sessions have been Flynn and Ana ganging up on me about Elena, and why she is still in my life. Neither Ana nor John grasps my current and past relationship with Elena Lincoln. They refuse to believe that we are strictly friends and business partners. I've rationally pointed out that I wouldn't be successful if Elena hadn't put me on a structured path, and that without her, GEH wouldn't exist. Ana calls that bullshit, saying that with my determination I would have started my company regardless. Last week's session was a colossal disaster. Ana said hiding my past with Elena and BDSM is glaring proof that I'm ashamed of both, and it was time to realize neither were beneficial to me. I returned fire, telling Ana I was sick of her referring to my friend as a pedophile, and it was nonsensical to conclude Elena had molested me if I was eager for her to beat me; thereafter, I would fuck Elena in ways that Ana would never imagine. Once the dust settled, I realized the cruel words that I had just bellowed at my girlfriend, and the room was deathly still. Then a disgusted, tearful, and pale-faced Ana caustically divulged her opinion that my IQ is the same as my shoe size, inasmuch as I believe that Elena is my only friend, and never considered the woman has alienated me from my family, along with anyone other than herself. Long before I had time to reply, Ana ran from the room and had Parson take her to her apartment. John gave me several minutes to ruminate on what I'd just brought about and then asked me if I thought there were three people in my relationship with Ana.

With John's not so subtle hints of impending doom and Ana's increasing anger, I left the session disquiet. I respect that Anastasia thinks that my relationship with Elena is repugnant; however, saying that Elena molested me is bullshit. The entire situation has left me lost and adrift, although I know that I'll do anything to keep Anastasia happy, and clean up every mistake that I've made when it comes to her. Elena is my friend, but flaunting our fucked up and dark past in Ana's face is no longer an option. Last night my beautiful girl told me Elena Lincoln had to go, and as soon as Ana gets here, I'm going to prove to her who comes first. My life is Ana and making her happy.

But I cannot forget that I have selfishly kept my sweet girl unenlightened and far-removed from my innermost secrets. If Ana really knew how ingrained and contorted my depravity is, or finds out that I've only beaten and fucked petite and brunette women, such as herself, Anastasia would make short work of escaping me, and my fucked up existence. That revelation is kept well camouflaged. If that heinous nightmare became my soul-marring, yet, irrefutable reality, and Anastasia did find out, I know that I wouldn't be able to recover from it.

Ana was too good to live in my darkness, but I refused to relinquish her. I wanted Ana, and my initial intentions would have stolen the good within her. I overlooked that fact and selfishly did my best to mold her into what I wanted. When Ana did leave me, notwithstanding that I didn't deserve her, being the selfish and smug man who I am, I had to get Anastasia back.

This angel gave me a second chance, and I can only hope she will be able to see past my dark past and as a normal man whom I want to become. The man Anastasia deserves.

Anastasia's stubbornly refused to move in with me, but I'm hoping that my near death experience has softened her resolve when it comes to our cohabitation. I'm hoping that after I tell her that I will no longer have anything else to do with Elena, Ana will be more amendable to the idea of moving in with me. Elena Lincoln isn't the only reason that Anastasia's mad as hell. Before her raging ass stomped to the elevator last night, I informed Ana that I would be adding a female CPO to her security detail. Since she already hates having a CPO, she went ballistic as soon as I told her. But extra security is a must since someone got close enough to Charlie Tango to sabotage it. I told Ana there were no if's, and's, or but's about it. She became so incensed, that while stomping her feet, I do believe I heard her hiss at me. I played on Ana worrying about the crash so she'd calm down, and my edict easily prevailed. I'm also hoping to get back into Ana's good graces by taking her and my family out on The Grace this weekend to celebrate Ana's birthday. That is if the weather cooperates, and at present, it doesn't look like it will.

"Sir, I will get those. . ."

Barney's voice blasts me back to reality and I find three sets of exhausted eyes staring at me. Taylor's cough and a quick shake of his head lets me know that whatever Barney was saying isn't important. Taylor must recognize my mood, grasping that my head isn't in this meeting and it's been a waste of time. But Barney's nose remains in his laptop. His determination to clear up the video surveillance has failed miserably, and we all regard his opinion on the perp outlandish - no matter how hard he tried to convince us.

"I think we're done, for now, gentlemen. I will not tolerate being told that we can't outmaneuver law enforcement or the NTSB. For Christ's sake, stop worrying about Seattle's PD, so far they haven't done shit and it's making their investigator's look foolish." I stop to stretch my aching back and wonder why I didn't let my mother take me to the hospital. "Our hands are effectively tied until the Eurocopter specialist arrives next week and gives us definitive proof of what this son of a bitch did to sabotage my helicopter," I grumble, dismissing them with a nod. I exhale deeply and wait for Welch and Barney to fucking leave.

Barney looks up from his laptop, haphazardly pushes his glasses higher up on his nose and starts gathering his shit together. Welch merely nods his head at me, abruptly turns on his heel and leaves my office. He's attuned to when I'm finished dealing with him, and it's a characteristic of Welch's that I appreciate. Taylor and I wait until Barney's slow ass is finally all packed up and out of my office. The kid's a genius, but his ass is slow as hell.

Groaning, I do my best to find a comfortable position to sit in. Spending hours in this chair didn't do my back any favors.

"Taylor, I want a female added to Miss Steele's security. The fact that I came close to meeting my maker isn't bothering me, but I don't want to put my family at risk. Assign Prescott as Miss Steele's second CPO. And add a female to my mother and sister as well. If needed, we can assign covert detail for my dad and Elliot. If I tried to put a CPO on either of them, they'd both try to kick my ass," I tell him, running my hands down my face. I'm fucking exhausted.

"Understood, Sir." Taylor sounds amused. He knows Anastasia was furious about having another CPO. Taylor also knows Ana doesn't care for Prescott, and he's probably imagining the hell I'm going to catch when I tell her Prescott will be her next best friend.

Taylor goes to make his way out of my office when I vaguely hear his cell phone going off. I look out my office's floor to ceiling windows and see that it's pouring rain. Frowning, I check the time once more and see it's a nearing ten until six. Call me spoiled, but where in the fuck are Ana and Parson? Ana could have had the courtesy to call me if she was running late, and Parson's ass fucking knows to call Taylor immediately if something goes awry. Pissed at me or not, Ana should have called. She knows that I go out of my head worrying about her. Reaching for my cell phone hurts my back, but I'm going to find out what in the hell is going on.

"Sir, we need to leave. Now," Taylor says from out of nowhere. His brusque, yet strangely calm words leave his mouth before my fingers make contact with my phone. I failed to notice that Taylor never made it out of my office. Startled, I look at him quizzically. I can count the times that Taylor's ordered me to do something on one hand. My blood pressure drops when I take Taylor's appearance into account. His usual stoic and don't fuck with me stance has disappeared. Taylor's pallid face is stone; his entire body tense. He is gripping his cell phone tightly; his expression unnerving. I stay seated, shaken over Taylor's foreboding behavior.

"Now, Sir. It's imperative," he says impatiently and with unconditional authority.

I shudder, every ache and pain I've been harboring is forgotten. In their stead, my heart begins to painfully hammer in my chest and I feel its vibrations in my ears. My legs obey as my brain orders them to stand and follow Taylor as he storms out of my office, fingers flying as he texts and walks. He immediately calls for Sawyer and Ryan. I freeze. Oh, fuck . . . Why is Taylor calling for them? Taylor's impatient bark for me to follow him jolts me back into action, and I sprint to the elevator to join Sawyer and Ryan, who are already there and speaking rapidly on their phones. What the fuck? Taylor roughly punches the elevator button, tension rolling off of him. I'm tearing my hair when Taylor's cell phone begins to vibrate. My stomach sours as I watch him read the message he's been sent. Taylor's lips form a white line and he squares his shoulders. He looks at Sawyer with a wary eye. My mind is whirling with every grisly scenario it can conjure up. Has there been an accident? It is pouring rain at rush hour after all. Is someone in my family sick? Injured?

Oh…Shit, shit, shit . . . Ana. She still hasn't arrived and didn't call my needy ass as she usually does. Is it Anastasia? Digging into my jeans pocket for my cell phone, I grit my teeth as I remember leaving it on my desk. I momentarily close my eyes before demanding Taylor to tell me what's going on. Inhaling deeply, I beg my eyes to stay closed for just a second longer before I have to face the unknown, but they fly open when Sawyer and Ryan's cells vibrate simultaneously. Sawyer is standing close enough to me that I cannot help but see the glaring text on his phone. Two words that Taylor routinely rams down the throats of his security team and that they've been trained for. Two words that encapsulate that something dire is happening or has happened. "Code Blue." From my vantage point, I can't see who sent the text, but I do see where they added, "Contact Immediately." This scenario is worse than I've feared and my security detail's worst nightmare. Someone has been seriously injured.

I lock eyes with Taylor's. "Tell me." I dread hearing his answer, but I must know.

Taylor stares at me, pausing before quietly and calmly answering. "It's Miss Steele, Sir. There's been an incident and Parson immediately sent me an alert. He is currently following the ambulance that's carrying Miss Steele to Harborview."

It's been a minute, so let's hope I remember how to do this. . .

(Yeah, this story has sub plot(s) from the trilogy in it, and no one is more shocked by that than I am.)

Here's the info you all want:

This story is void of BDSM.

Christian and Ana are not paired with another character.

There is no cheating in this story.

The story will be from Christian and Ana's points of view.

If you read my previous story, then you know I'm one of those irritating writers who won't disclose if their story has a happy ending. For me, knowing the end takes the fun from reading the story, and I won't answer the question if asked.

If you know me, you're aware that I hate long A/N's, so I'm throwing out what I need to say now, and then you don't have to read too much from my boring ass in the future-

First - I'd love to be like some writers who update like machines or on a specific day of the week, but if you know me, you're aware that my life tends to have unpredictable up's and down's because I have a child with special needs. I'm not saying you'll have to wait 2 weeks for an update, I'm saying I can't devote half of my time writing.

Second– If you read Inauspicious and left reviews, you may have been aware that I would reply to them in a review of my own. I only did that because I was very fortunate, and had a lot of reviews with each chapter. It was impossible to personally respond to each one. I have no idea how this story will be received or if I'll get many reviews, so I'll leave it up to those who read the story to tell me how you prefer I respond or not respond at all.

Last, but not least – I've got to thank graypearls for her outrageously, perfect idea. She knocked it out of the ball park this time. gaypearls always sees things that I'm oblivious to. I'm glad I've got a smart friend.

Okay, I'm done. Chapter 2 will be up tomorrow or the day after.

Anna


	2. Chapter 2

_The FSoG Trilogy and all characters therein belong to E. L. James. This story and all of its mistakes are mine._

 _Chapter Two_

 _~Christian~_

The impossible has happened. I have just been rendered speechless. My knees buckle, but Sawyer grasps my elbow to hold me steady. My Anastasia has been hurt, and the thought chokes me. I have never loved anyone as much as I love Anastasia Steele.

I already knew that this day had been hell, but I had no idea it was going to take me to hell. Parson is currently following an ambulance that is carrying Ana to a hospital; I don't have a voice to demand why. Fuck me. Taylor's attitude is a remarkable commentary on his unflappable personality. He shows the inner workings of a man in total control, as well as having a set of brass balls. Taylor pushes the elevator button again. We wait in silence.

I cannot comprehend what Taylor has told me. I had to have heard the man wrong. I don't know what's happened, but I do know Ana is the strongest person I've ever known. My eyes land on the Madonna paintings that cover the white, corpse-colored paint on the walls that surround us. Paranoia has set in, and it feels like they are looking at me. I'm sure the paintings are mocking me because of what they represent, and how I've kept their secret from Ana. Is the secret within them the reason that this is happening? I forcefully push such an absurd idea from my mind. My rationale disappears, and I try to pinpoint a recent sin I've committed that's brought about this fresh hell.

The elevator arrives. I stagger inside, sandwiched between Taylor and Ryan. The mirrored elevator throws our reflections around like the mirrors at a county fair that distorts your appearance. My body may reflect the wealth and the bodies of my security team may reflect protection. The horrific security alert reflects that my wealth is worthless. That Code Blue is proof my team's protection doesn't mean fuck all. These mirrors distort our appearances, and they distort reality.

"An incident, Jason? What the fuck does that mean?" I ask hoarsely, finally finding my voice. I scrutinize the profile of my head of security. Taylor shakes his head without looking at me. "Were they in a car accident?" I press.

"I don't know the details, Mr. Grey," Taylor's reply is succinct, and I know he skated around the truth. I note that we're all anxiously watching the floors drop. The elevator is taking its agonizingly slow time to get to the parking garage. Ryan is impatiently tapping one of his feet. I'm nearing the point of feeding it to him after I rip it off of his leg.

"What did Parson tell you, Jason! Fucking tell me what's wrong with Ana!" I demand, my words gruff, my voice growing louder.

Taylor ignores me as the elevator opens, and he quickly strides to one of the black SUV's. Dazed, my steps falter, and I stumble. Ryan grabs my arm with an iron-clad grip. Ryan is holding me up, and he is rushing me forward at the same time. I am unceremoniously launched into the backseat, and someone wraps a seat belt around me. Ryan sits in the back with me while Sawyer rides shot-gun. My body feels like melted jelly. It's mind-boggling that I can sit upright. I want to interrogate and assault Taylor with questions, but those terrifying questions only rattle around my brain. There are too many words in the back of my throat that I cannot shove out of my mouth. I silently curse myself for being such a pussy. All I can conceptualize is Anastasia being hurt. Somehow, she has been hurt so badly that she's in the back of an ambulance headed to Harborview. God, I cannot stand to think of how terrified my sweet girl must be. I know how terrified I felt being placed in the back of an ambulance and driven to some strange. . . I let that thought trail away, and a shiver runs down my back.

Jesus, Ana. I hear voices all around me, although I'm unable to process what they are saying. My mind is in turmoil, and I've suddenly become a praying man, I'm praying to God that Ana simply tripped and fell over something. I can't take anything more serious happening to her. I could not take it. Taylor is barking orders while Sawyer is making multiple phone calls. I've closed my eyes, and I am picturing Ana's smiling face.

"Talk to me, man. Don't worry about that . . . we know that you did. Yep, T's already sent a detail over there. Shit, get on the horn with big Mr. G before doing that. I'll tell T to go to the rear entrance. Stay with. . . just stay put, and T will find you. Hey, any idea if Dr. Trevelyan is working? Gotcha. . . minutes away." Ryan was speaking softly with his head towards the window, but his words caught my attention. I absorbed every word, and my head jerks to him. Where the fuck is Parson, and why did Ryan tell him to stay there? I thought he was behind the ambulance that Ana is in? Mother fucker. How much time has gone by? And where has Taylor sent a god damn security detail to, and why?

My hands furiously rub up and down my face. I am purposely digging my fingernails into my skin. I'm not doing it deep enough to draw blood, though. I just need to feel some source of pain. I have to feel something other than the agony of not knowing if Anastasia is all right. I feel as though I'm being repeatedly kicked in the head, and I cannot find a way to breathe. I am going to die from asphyxiation before finding out what the hell has happened.

I have to know what in the fuck Ryan and Parson were talking about. I realize that I'm mute right now, and my mind has control of my body, but this shit is too much. Ryan told Parson to keep his mouth shut until he speaks to Dad. He said that Parson should see if Mom is working. Ryan told Parson to call my father. My father is an attorney. Ryan told Parson to find out if my mother is at work. My mother is a physician. Fuck. . . Please! What kind of shit sense does this mean? God, is she dead, and they all know I'm going to need my parents? Anastasia, what's happened to you? I had better find you on an exam table with a broken fingernail. I promise that I won't get mad if you've pulled this little stunt as revenge for last night.

"T, head to the rear."

I drag precious air into my lungs, but it feels more like dense, smoky charcoal, and the smoke blinds me. I finally find my ability to speak somewhere underneath the bed of nails I feel I'm lying upon.

"Ryan, what happened to Miss Steele? I want to know what Parson old you." I know that I sound like a whining child demanding a second cookie. "Why did you instruct him to locate my parents?"

"Sir, Parson instructed me to tell Taylor for us to enter the back entrance of the hospital. We're minutes away, Mr. Grey," Ryan responds in a quiet voice. He ignored my questions. I know that Ryan just lied to me. He's lying to me just like Taylor lied to me. Anger and nausea are beginning to rise within me. I am a breath away from losing my mind.

The anger of not knowing what happened to Anastasia is mingling with a sense of doom. I begin to panic. My face is numb, my hands are shaking, and I'm breathing so rapidly that I sound like a panting dog. I tear off my seat belt, and I bend over. My head is in between my legs with my hands clasped around the back of my neck. I begin to rock back and forth. Don't do this to me, Anastasia Steele. . . I know that I'm a fuck up and not worthy of you. You cannot abandon me. You swore that you wouldn't, Ana. Baby, you always keep your word.

"Sir, please sit up, and put your seatbelt back on. Mr. Grey, please. Luckily, traffic is light this evening. We're nearly there, Sir. We are two minutes out. But, please sit up, and put your seatbelt back on until we arrive, Sir," Ryan says, coaxing me. Remaining bent over at the waist, I shake my head in refusal like a disobedient child. Ryan doesn't try to force me. All of my staff are vigilant about remembering where I can and cannot be touched. I feel as though my breathing is under control, and I'm able to sit up. The lights of oncoming vehicles are blurry, yet I don't realize why until I feel the dampness on my cheeks. Shit, I'm crying. I haven't cried in twenty-four years. I drag my hands across my face to wipe my tears on my jeans. My Ana would be worried if she saw me crying. I can't allow that to happen. Ana already worries about me too much.

I hazard a glance at Ryan. "Why did you tell Parson to call my parents?" I ask again. I don't receive an answer, and I'm oblivious that the SUV has stopped. It's only when I feel Taylor grasp the back of my neck, and he pulls me from the SUV, that I realize we've arrived at Harborview. I want to take flight, to burst through the hospital entrance and then I would tear the place apart until I found Anastasia. But I can't. Someone has once again roughly taken me by an elbow, and it's all I can do not to stumble much less run. Bright, overhead, fluorescent lights illuminate the drab, antiseptic environment that greets us upon entering. The first thing I'm aware of is the smell. Why do all hospitals smell the same? Hospitals smell like heartbreak. The smell is a mixture of tears, regrets, and death. No, I cannot even think of the word death. I'm making my way to my precious Anastasia, and the word death will not hover anywhere near her. Death and Ana will not intersect until I'm long dead in the cold, hard ground. Strangely, I'm aware that I have lost control of any coherent thought. Hallways painted sea-foam green pass me by in a blur.

I'm just able to comprehend that Taylor is leading us through a hallway that leads to the emergency department. Without warning, Ryan implants me inside a windowless room and someone shuts the door behind me. The offensive odor of a sweet, tropical, air freshener floods my nose. The walls of the room are white, and the lighting is dim. I spot a worn Bible on a table by a brown, vinyl loveseat. Ryan and Sawyer have established themselves by the door and Taylor has disappeared. If Ryan and Sawyer are aware of what happened, they are hiding it well. Were they the backup Parson requested? Is so, they were only requested to babysit me.

Yes, my mind is a mental disaster, but I become acutely aware of several voices on the other side of the door. I recognize Taylor's voice. I hear my dad as well. I hear their voices intermingled with someone else's. Why in the hell does it sound like a meeting is being held on the other side of the fucking door? Why is my father here? I want to get the hell out of this room, demand answers, and find my girl, but I can't will my body to move. Abruptly, the door swings open and my Mom stands in the doorway. She's wearing light blue scrubs underneath her white doctor's coat. Sawyer and Ryan slide out of her way, and Mom quickly makes her way to me, grabbing my hand, and she begins to stroke my knuckles. My mother is visibly distressed, and I can tell that she's been crying.

"Christian, darling!" She murmurs, gazing into my eyes. Is that despair across her face? Something is very wrong if Mom is this upset, and why in the hell am I in one of the rooms they take you to when they tell you someone died? God, could Ana be dead? No. She fucking said she'd never leave me! Taylor will have to shoot me. My miserable existence would have to come to an end if Anastasia Rose Steele left this world. I can't breathe without the air that surrounds my innocent Anastasia. Yet. . . I, I felt something when the crack whore died. . . I don't have that feeling about Ana. But why am I in this fucking room? I shake my head to rid myself of these throbbing thoughts.

I roughly pull my hand away from her. "Mom, do you know where Ana is? What happened to her? Is she hurt? For Christ's sake, can you tell me anything, and why is Dad here?" I demand harshly, finally finding my voice as my functioning brain re-enters my body. I've finally reclaimed verbal communication.

Oh hell . . . I have not been Christian Grey. I have not been behaving like myself and inaction have gotten me nowhere. I have to find Ana and rise above this situation. Grey handles shit so it's resolved quickly. What in the fuck is going on with Taylor, and why is my father with him? And where in the mother fucking hell is Parson? Obviously, I'm going to have grab a quack doctor to threaten until he takes me to Ana. I start to stand up, but my mother softly takes hold of both my hands. I catch Ryan subtly move closer to the door. What. The. Fuck.

Mom shakes her head slowly. "Christian, I don't know the specifics. Ana had already been rushed to surgery by the time I found out she was in the ER," she replies, her voice soft. Mom pauses. She is still looking at me solemnly. I think she's giving me time to absorb her words. I am too stunned to ask if this is really happening, or if this is just one of my nightmares. My mother continues after taking a shuddering breath. "I was able to get one of the nurses who had worked on Ana to tell me they rushed her to have a CT scan of her head, so I hurried to radiology in the hopes that Ana would be there. The radiologist, who, fortunately, is a good friend of mine is working tonight. He was the physician who read the results of Ana's scan. . . I looked at them, too. . . Christian, the results are indicative of a severe head injury." Mom stops, and she momentarily closes her eyes. "He informed me they immediately took Ana to surgery." The compassion her expression holds makes me divert my eyes.

I expel a burst of air, similar to the way I do when Claude kicks me in the gut. I can easily wrap my head around plans to disassemble a multi-million-dollar company, but my mother's words have left me unable to spell my name. Surgery? A severe head injury? Mom said Ana is in surgery due to a severe head injury? So, that means they are operating on her head? What in the ever-loving fuck? What in the god damn fuck happened to her that would cause this?

This repulsive pain is stronger than I can take.

"Ana has a head injury? What does that mean, Mom?" I ask, my voice rising from panic. "How did this happen? Do you know what happened?" My words crack as I try to keep myself from sobbing. The walls of this dim, shit hole of a room are closing in on me, and I begin to feel uncomfortably out of control like I did in the SUV.

My mother gently strokes my head. "Christian, I don't have any idea what happened to Ana. I only know what I saw on Ana's head CT. She suffered a significant skull fracture to the left side of her head. The fracture, rather, the focal impact that caused it brought about what is known as an epidural hematoma. In layman's terms, it's a blood clot underneath the fracture, and it's over the temporal area of her brain. Unfortunately for our Ana, her condition is quite serious because her bleed is quite large. . . and . . . the scan captured the area of her brain surrounding the clot beginning to swell—"

I hold up a trembling hand to interrupt her. "Wait! You are telling me that Anastasia hit her head so hard that her skull fractured, and her brain is bleeding?" I whisper, swallowing the vomit that was racing to spew from my mouth.

"No, Christian. There is not a bleed in her brain, darling. There is a rather large blood clot between her skull and brain. Ana's brain will continue to swell if the clot is not removed. Brain swelling causes an increase in brain pressure. . . it causes the brain to expand, Christian. . . since it has nowhere to go. . ." Mom's words trail away. I'm no fool. I don't need to hear the words. I know what she's telling me.

Ana is going to die without ever hearing I can't live without her.

"How long will she be in surgery? Will the surgery stop her brain from swelling any further?" I ask in a tortured whisper.

"A surgery such as this is lengthy and varies due to the procedure the surgeon uses to remove the blood clot. Christian, do you want me to call Ana's parents? My mother's voice is soft like melted honey that she's using as a balm to smear across my wounds. "I do need to let Kate know, too. I'm sure she could call them for us."

Mom has just maneuvered around a question that I've asked. My mother is being evasive just like Taylor and Ryan.

Our eyes meet. "Will removing this clot stop the swelling, Mom?"

I receive my answer when my mother's blue eyes begin to bubble with tears. After extricating my hand from Mom's, I clench them into fists. I cannot look at my mom crying. I turn my head. My eyes land on the Bible.

Where are you at now, God?

"Darling, that question can't be answered with a simple yes or no. I can't give guarantees, Christian," she whispers.

Fuck! Mom mentioning Ray and Carla just registered. I've got to let them know that Ana's in the hospital, and I won't be able to tell them why. I am mother fucking fed up with being kept in the dark. I'm the god damn boss around here, after all. I stand and stalk to Sawyer. This unexplained clusterfuck is coming to an end. One of these fucks know what's going on, and they are about to fill me in. Christ, throw me a grain of information before I lose my mind or kick someone's ass.

"Sawyer, what in the fuck happened to Miss Steele. Tell me or lose your job. I know that you fucking know! Either tell me, or get the fuck out my way, and let me out of this fucking room!" I roar, my voice loud and hoarse. I'm nose to nose with him, but Sawyer doesn't as much as flinch as my breath covers his face. The door to this nauseating room of hell opens before Sawyer can answer me, and I don't like what I see.

Dad enters the room first with Taylor and Parson behind him. Each man appears incensed and distraught. I stare at my father's grim face. My eyes implore him to tell me what has happened. Dad has on his attorney's face and I realize asking him for information is futile. I turn my attention to Parson, and a blazing anger lights inside of me. He looks fine. I don't see a single scratch or bruise on him. Parson hasn't been injured. So what in the fuck happened to Ana? Before I verbally eviscerate him, the fog from my anger clears, and I focus on him. Parson isn't wearing his suit jacket and . . . His white shirt has a small amount of blood on it. He has rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and I see stains of blood on both of his hands. My eyes slowly take him in. His gray pants are smeared with blood, looking as though he wiped his hands off on them. I think my body sways, because Dad quickly takes hold of my waist, and steadies me. A fiery heat strikes as I study the three men in front of me. The blood, and the expressions on the faces of Dad, Parson, and Taylor tell me this is worse than I feared. The members of my security seem as though they are preparing themselves for when I lose my mind. They must believe that I'm going to lose my it when I find out what has happened to Ana.

Anastasia Steele has been my savior. She cannot be my destruction. God, if you really exist. . .

Parson steps forward and dread must be upon his tongue. He swallows hard while he composes himself. I can't force myself to look at him. I stare past him. My eyes are on the wall behind him where the dim light has cast his large shadow. I can't look at my Ana's blood.

"Sir," he begins, the tone of his voice is inexplicable. I shake my head and hold up both of my hands to keep him from saying another word. Taylor better have fired his ass.

I force myself to look him in the face. "What happened to Miss Steele?" My voice is low, tone broken. I feel my mother take my hand again and she squeezes it tightly. "Start from the beginning, Parson. Don't leave out a single fucking detail."

Tyler Parson's expression is one that I cannot decipher. Clearing his throat, he begins to tell me what happened while trying to sound professional. He is failing miserably.

"Sir, Miss Steele left SIP shortly before five-thirty. I parked directly in front of the entrance, and I waited outside the vehicle for her. Upon reaching the vehicle, I took Miss Steele's bag from her. Then Miss Steele told me that she'd forgotten a manuscript, and she had to go back to get it. I told Miss Steele that I would go retrieve it. I instructed her to get into the vehicle, but she insisted that I wouldn't have any idea what to look for. I told her I had to accompany her. Miss Steele then told me that the receptionist and an editor were still inside SIP, and I didn't need to go in with her. We were bickering over it when Miss Steele turned, and she hurriedly made her way back into the building —"

I instantly cut him off. Parson did allow this to happen. My words are an incendiary device that violently explodes throughout the room. "Did you fucking let her go back into SIP by herself, you fucking idiot?" I'm precariously holding the tenuous control that I only just recovered. My atrocious rage is really propelled by fear. Fear, because I trusted Parson to adequately protect Anastasia, and my asinine trust may cost Ana her life. Oh, fuck it. Why do I lie to myself as to why I'm really contorted by terror? My chaotic fear is the fear of losing someone else to death. I am ashamed that this has brought out the little boy that I really am. The child that I hide, and a small child that Anastasia knows about. Oh, this out of control feeling is too close for comfort. I am feeling like the angry adolescent that I actually am. An adolescent that Ana has been healing with her innocent, pure, and unbelievable love for me.

"Christian Trevelyan- Grey!" My mother exclaims. She steps away from me, and she's staring at me with wide, shocked eyes. "Don't you dare speak that way to this young man! Don't speak to anyone else like at all! Good grief, Christian, look at him. It's blatantly obvious he helped Ana in some fashion, so let him tell us what happened, and control yourself!" Mom's chastising words would usually make me feel like a child. Yet, her words don't make me feel like a chastised ten-year-old now. I feel like a man about to murder Tyler Parson if he's the reason Ana is so horribly broken. My father is about to say something, but Taylor breaks in before my mother can continue her tirade.

"Boss, excuse me for speaking out of line, and I'll understand if you want me to turn in my resignation for doing so. I've already taken care of Parson. You need to know what happened to Miss Steele, Sir, and right now, Parson is the only person who can explain it to you."

Taylor is speaking the truth. Mother fucker, it pisses me off. I understand what Jason is doing. I should feel grateful that I have someone in my life that's brave enough to shove my face in my bullshit. Taylor's dark eyes continue to assess my body language. He's cleverly leading me out of the dark recesses of my mind, so I calm down, and I can regain my self-control.

I get it, Jason!" I yell in his face. "I'm not going to fire you for fuck's sake! I just want to know what's wrong with Ana! Parson explain this shit to me before I lose my fucking mind!" I throw my head back in exasperation, tearing at my hair with both of my hands. Jesus Christ! I just want to know what happened to Ana. My ingrained need to pace has kicked in, and bodies, albeit my father's, are backing out of my way so I don't mow them down.

"Sir, I did allow Miss Steele did enter SIP alone. I am sorry for my negligence and I understand why Taylor terminated me. These words are pointless in light of the situation, but I sincerely apologize for not following her inside." Parson sighs, and he seems like he's gathering his thoughts. "I made my way to the building's entrance; the glass doors of SIP gave me a clear view of what was going on inside. I immediately saw a woman, who I now know is the receptionist, Claire Dawson. I never left the entrance. My eyes were trained inside the building, as I waited for Miss Steele to reappear. A woman, I now know she is Elizabeth Morgan, exited an office. She approached the receptionist, Claire Dawson. Ms. Dawson had started gathering her belongings." Parson stops, he inhales deeply.

I've never had to wait for details my entire life. I am used to receiving information when I demand it. Yet, when I do want information it concerns the most important person in my existence. I'm being tortured by fuckers who refuse to get to the point.

"Sir, I watched the women converse for several minutes. I admit that I let too much time pass before I checked the time. I had noted what time Miss Steele entered SIP, and I realized she had been inside for exactly sixteen minutes. I wasn't comfortable with that. My immediate thought was that Miss Steele should have already found the manuscript. I was about to make my way inside the building to find Miss Steele when both Dawson and Morgan appeared alarmed. The women disappeared from sight, but I did see them rush down a hallway. I ran inside the building and heard loud female voices and a cry for help. Pulling out my sidearm, I followed where the voices were coming from. I heard a door slam shut while I was searching for the women. A woman yelling to call 911 is how I found them," Parson continues. His mouth slams shut when I stumble back and fall into a chair. Dad sits down beside me. I dart my eyes at him. He's pale, although doesn't appear shocked. He's already heard Parson recounting what happened.

I look at my mother who is visibly shaken. I know she shares my dread of hearing what Parson found. I'm consumed with the need to do something; however, I'm at a loss of what I should do. Do I utter a word, or should I remain quiet? Do I choke Parson until he's dead, or do I let him continue explaining this to me? I have held my breath for so long that my lungs feel as though they are about to explode from the pain. I exhale slowly, and Parson must take it as his cue to continue. He is looking me directly in the face with undiluted anger emanating from his body. Parson's hands are fists at his sides, his knuckles are translucent. I know this is not a good sign. No, no, no. That is not a good sign. I close my eyes.

"Sir, I located them in the break room. The Morgan woman was on the phone with 911, and Miss Dawson was kneeling on the floor. . . beside Miss Steele—"

No, Ana. You are the sun that lights these hardened, dark spaces within me. No, Ana. You can't do this.

"Parson, why was Miss Steele on the floor?" I interrupt him, my words are whispers of sheer terror. I don't think that I can struggle through hell for a moment longer. My coping skills have withered, and I don't think I can endure hearing what happened to Anastasia. At some point, my mother sat beside me. She makes no move to touch me. From my peripheral vision, I can see her entire body trembling, hands over her mouth. My eyes slam shut; I can't look at anyone else's pain while I'm consumed by my own.

"Let him finish, Christian. Let him finish," Dad tells me quietly.

"Mr. Grey, I moved the Dawson woman out of my way, so I was able to fully assess the situation. Miss Steele was unresponsive. . . she was bleeding and her blouse had been torn open, Sir. I knelt down beside Miss Steele, and I quickly checked her vitals; she was unconscious, however, she had a strong pulse and was breathing. I confirmed that 911 had been called and that help was on the way. I immediately sent a Code Blue to Taylor. Then I instructed both women to start moving tables, and the chairs because the EMT's would need easy access to Miss Steele. Sir, Miss Steele had obviously been hit in the face; she was bleeding heavily from her mouth and nose. Her left eye was already swollen shut, and there was blood running out of her left ear." Parson stops. I open my eyes to regard him. Parson's excruciating words have left me numb.

"Bleeding. . ." I manage to slur.

The ceiling is collapsing on me. I am incapable of stringing words together, so I cannot ask Parson to shut up. My mind will never erase the images that Tyler Parson is describing. I'm sure I look lost, and I vaguely feel my father's hand on the back of my neck. I no longer care to stand, pace or start screaming orders. My heart is one of despair, and I honestly don't know if I can stand to hear another word Parson says. I brace myself for the worst, and I watch his mouth begin to move once more.

"Mr. Grey, I made every attempt to rouse Miss Steele, although it was futile. Before I could ask the women what the fuck had happened, we heard the EMT's, and the police were yelling as they entered the building. I instructed the Morgan woman to bring them to where we were. The EMT's quickly secured Miss Steele to a backboard and began to assess her condition. One EMT checked Miss Steele's pupils; I instantly spotted a change in their actions and behavior. They placed an oxygen mask on Miss Steele, and one EMT quickly inserted IV's into each of Miss Steele's arms. They placed the backboard on the stretcher. Suddenly, they were literally running to the ambulance while demanding to know what had happened to Miss Steele. I couldn't tell them anything. However, the women were able to describe what they saw. They said they took off running in search for Miss Steele after hearing her yelling for help. They confirmed that before they reached the break room that they distinctly heard a male's voice—"

"Shall I continue, Sir?" Parson asks me. I nod. I'm unable to find the adequate words to reply with.

"Yes, young man. Please," My mother replies. Her voice is ragged from crying. Dad goes to sit beside her. He wraps Mom in his arms.

Parson pinches the bridge of his nose and swiftly looks at Taylor. I gaze at both wondering if the look they exchanged meant something.

"Sir, both women said they realized the voices were coming from the break room. Miss Dawson described tentatively opening the door. Miss Dawson's official statement to the police matched Ms. Morgan's. They both described Miss Dawson opening the door, and within seconds they saw Miss Steele, whose blouse was already ripped open. . . Sir, they witnessed Miss Steele being punched in the face. Ms. Morgan told the police that the force of the hit knocked Miss Steele backwards, and her head slammed into the counter around the sink," Parson says, his eyes never leaving mine. The air leaves my lungs and my mind is shutting itself down. "Both women agreed Miss Steele was rendered unconscious after her head hit the counter. Both women said they ran to her as she was falling to the floor. . . Ms. Morgan said no one could have moved fast enough to have caught Miss Steele in time. . . to keep her . . . to have kept her head hitting the floor when she went down. Ms. Morgan said that Miss Steele didn't physically react when she made contact with the floor. After inspecting the counter where the women said Miss Steele hit her head I did find blood on it.

The room is quiet. The type of peaceful silence that covers land before a hurricane blows life away. Several seconds pass before I hear my mother begin to weep. I would surmise that Parson's words stunned her to the point that her brain had to reset itself before she could react. She is so upset that Dad can't comfort her. On the other hand, my reaction takes even longer to come forth. Parson's words are no longer words. They are technicolor visions of Anastasia with her blouse torn open. Ana is covered in blood after being punched in her beautiful face, and her head slamming into a counter, the blow rendering her unconscious. She's been brutalized so badly that her skull, her god damn skull is now fractured, and her skull probably fractured a second time from slamming it on the floor. Ana is having emergency fucking brain surgery to remove a life-threatening blood clot. Anastasia could very easily die. A primal, fucking visceral, gut-tearing, scream leaves my body as I stand. I begin throwing everything within my reach. Screaming unintelligible words leave my mouth. I fight each of the men who try to stop me. I watch with satisfaction as a chair I throw across the room crashes into the opposite wall. It loses two of its legs, and the broken chair leaves a lovely hole in the wall. I have been violently angry my entire life, but never like this. No, never I've never felt this kind of rage. I'm not simply driven to murdering whoever did this to Ana. I will without a doubt murder them. Their limbs are torn off. Each of their bones smashed into dust. I will not be satisfied until they are a bloody spot at my feet that I can step on.

It takes Taylor, Ryan, and Sawyer, along with my father, to finally restrain me. My mind recognizes the destruction before me. I have been manhandled into a chair, and Taylor is holding me in it by the shoulders. Taylor's consideration of my touch phobia is damned, and I surprisingly don't feel a thing. My mother is crying. In between hiccups, she gets up to call Kate Kavanagh, and she tells me she will try to get some information concerning Ana's condition. From the dark tunnel, I'm currently in, it's hard to clearly make out Mom's words. It's as if she's underwater. Hopefully, it's me that's underwater. I'd rather drown than face a life without the woman who is uncovering my heart.

"Jason, sit beside Christian. Keep him as calm as you can. I'll be surprised if his little stunt doesn't get us all thrown out of the hospital," my father mutters.

"Tyler, can you please tell us what happened once Ana reached the hospital? Are you aware of Ana sustaining other injuries? I'm hoping that you overheard something important while she was still in the ER because there is only so much I can find out since we aren't family. That's why it's so important to get her parents here. They are the only ones who can make decisions for her care, Dad tells Parson.

I have to escape this box of a room with its ugly, vinyl sofa and scuffed linoleum floor. My destruction seems to have added some ambiance to this room of god damn tropical, air freshener shit. Where is a window? Why isn't there a window in this fucking room? There's a Bible in here, but it's black from not having a fucking window. Where's the logic in that? No, where's the logic inside my mind? Why am I thinking these stupid fucking thoughts, and not paying attention to Parson?

My God. I cannot live without Ana. It's simply not possible. I cannot do it.

"Mr. Grey, I wasn't allowed to accompany Miss Steele in the ambulance. I refused to leave Miss Steele once we arrived at the hospital. They rushed Miss Steele into a trauma baby. They asked if I was Miss Steele's family, and they tried to remove me after I told them I was Miss Steele's personal security, courtesy of Mr. Christian Grey. They threatened to call hospital security on me," He says, then turns to face me. "I never left her, Mr. Grey. I didn't understand the medical jargon flying around, but I do know they were becoming alarmed when Miss Steele's blood pressure began to rapidly increase. The physician said everything was indicating that Miss Steele had a head injury, and they had to hurry up to stabilize her so she could have a CT scan. I followed as they rushed her to have the scan. Again, they refused me entry. I waited until they emerged with Miss Steele as rapidly as they had taken her to have the CT. I jogged along with them, and I heard one of the nurses say emergency surgery. I inquired about Miss Steele's condition, but a nurse asked if I was immediate family. When I told her that I was her personal security, she refused to answer me. She did tell me that I needed to contact Miss Steele's family as quickly as possible. I stood by the door leading to the surgical department until the police arrived. I don't know anything else about Miss Steele's condition, Mr. Grey."

Like it matters, Parson. You're history. This is all of your fault. I lived in hell for twenty-seven years until a naïve, beautiful, innocent, young woman led me to heaven. Ana may die, and it's all thanks to you, Parson.

Our confined space becomes so deathly silent that my sick mind is imagining thousands of fractured skulls dropping from the ceiling. Each horrible one hitting the white, linoleum floor without making a sound as they crack open. I say nothing because all of my words live in Ana's heart. I don't move a muscle because all of my body belongs to Ana, and she's the force of nature that can make my body react. All I know is that the beating of my heart has slowed, and my breathing is shallow. Is this the kind of desperate shock you feel when a loved one is suddenly torn from the world? Is this what being in shock feels like? Can pain such as this end your life? This shock is why I am

without any words. I am once again the four-year-old, mute child that Grace Trevelyan-Grey rescued from a hospital in Detroit. I am that same starved, terrified, little boy who is in a dark, small, and scary room full of strangers. I feel paralyzed. My brain is in a fog induced haze.

No one in this room fools me. We can call Kate, and Ray will drive from Montesano, and I'll fly Carla here on my jet, and the Grey's will congregate outside some ICU waiting room. Yet, it's going to end the same. Because I know that this is it. Ana will most likely die because I forgot that I don't deserve love or happiness. I ignored the fact that I don't deserve Ana, and now she is going to die. The crack whore let me know that I wasn't worth more than being a punching bag or an ashtray. She let me know that I didn't deserve affection, love, or a kind touch. She let me know I wasn't worth staying alive for, and I was such a dumb little shit I still covered up the whore with my filthy blanket. So, what did I do before I met a certain cerulean-eyed bookworm who turned my life upside down? Yes, what did I do before I met this angel? Oh, those were the years when I sadistically sought out women who looked like my birth mother so I could beat them, and I was sick enough to fuck them until they couldn't walk. Now I'm sitting on a plastic chair, staring at a linoleum floor, and gazing at a fucking Glade Plug-In that is the source of the disgusting tropical odor that's been smothering me.

Ana is suffering because she's in love with me, and I don't deserve love. Ana was hurt because I forgot the crack whore made me understand that I didn't deserve happiness. I ignored what a sick man I truly am, and I brought Ana into my dark presence. Now she's suffering because of my actions and lies, and I'll never be able to tell her that Elena can fuck off. I'm sitting here mute because I'm being given my just dues for being a hard, cold sadist. Ana's suffering because I'm getting what I deserve for being the worthless fucker that I am. The universe is paying me back for enjoying the pain I received when Elena Lincoln left me bloody from each strike of her favorite cane, and I remained her friend because I have a sick soul. I've been a waste of air for twenty-eight years in this world. I found pleasure in my depravity. For all of my sins, there is an innocent, beautiful, and loving, young woman in this hospital having brain surgery. Anastasia Steele didn't trip her way into my life to find love. She tripped her way into the hell of my life, and Ana found herself shrouded in my darkness. I am a man that isn't worthy of love, and Ana is suffering because of that. And for God's sake, Ana didn't deserve for someone to assault . . .

Fuck. Someone assaulted Ana. My thoughts immediately come to a halt. Raising my head, I try to stand, but Taylor doesn't allow me to. Assault . . . Assaulted . . . Someone assaulted Ana. The fog in my head clears enough to realize this fact. Who the fuck would want to hurt Ana? Rage tenses every muscle in my body, and I clench my jaws so hard that I'm surprised my teeth don't crack. My short-lived self-introspection is over, and now I'm out for blood. Whoever hurt Anastasia should ready themselves for being torn apart with my two hands, and I will smile as I'm disposing of their rotting carcass.

I glare at Parson. When I speak my voice is low and menacing. "Do you know who in the fuck did this to Miss Steele?"

Parson's wide shoulders are beginning to rapidly rise and fall with every breath he takes. His nostrils are flaring like a raging bull. He's infuriated.

"Sir, Miss Dawson, and Ms. Morgan's statements to the police are that it was Miss Steele's boss, Jack Hyde, who attacked her," he replies in a voice rubbed with anger. "Both women said he fled the room as soon as he saw them. I believe it's safe to say the door that I heard slamming before I entered the break room was Hyde making a run for it. The door opens to SIP's parking lot." Parson's eyes are glittering dangerously.

Taylor doesn't try to stop me when I start to stand this time. My blood is boiling, and I'm on the verge of having a stroke due to the fury coursing through my veins. I'm probably pulling my hair out by the roots while I pace the room.

"Christian—" My father starts to say, but I stop him.

"That sleaze I met when I picked Ana up from that bar? The mother fucker I was trying to find a reason to fire?" I roar. I'm apocalyptic.

"The one and only, Sir," Taylor replies, his elbows are on his knees and he's pinching the bridge of his nose. "I had men at his house before the cops arrived. He was smart enough to not go home, and he still hasn't shown up. I also think it's fair to say that he won't be going home anytime soon."

Hyde just handed his death sentence to Christian Grey.

My pacing has morphed into turning in circles like a dog that lives inside a kennel. Anastasia spent eight hours a day for months around that sick fuck. Why would he do this to her? That slimy bastard, with his ponytail, and his hoop earrings. The sick fuck attacked my girl. There is no doubt in my mind that he was hell bent on raping her.

"God damn, bastard!" I yell from the pit of my stomach. "Taylor, get—"

I'm interrupted when the door opens. We all turn; each of us is expecting to see Mom. Shit. Just who I dreaded having to put up with. Kate fucking Kavanagh with Elliot hot on her heels. They're both out of breath, and it is obvious that Kate has cried her eyes out. My dad stands, and my affectionate brother hugs him tightly. Elliot looks at me with a longing to hug his baby brother.

"How is she?" Elliot asks me. I can't reply to Elliot because Miss Kavanagh opens her annoying mouth.

"Is she alive?" Kate asks, her voice full of panic. She's wearing one of Elliot's sweatshirts, and her sweatpants have the word 'Juicy' scrawled across her ass. Classy, Miss Kavanagh, really classy. Elliot pulls her to him tightly, and he kisses the top of her head. God, I despise this woman. I don't have a solitary clue how in the fuck Elliot can stand her. Hell, why in the fuck is Ana her best friend? Why in the hell do I hate her so much?

Looking at Kate, I shake my head.

"She's in surgery. Mom went to try to find out how she is. She's afraid getting information will be hard until Ana's parents arrive. Kate, were you able to speak with Ray and Carla?" I ask.

Kate nods, wiping her reddened nose with a Kleenex she's had wadded up in her hand. "Yes. Ray's on his way and Carla was hurriedly searching for a flight online." Kate and Elliot take a seat on the grotesque, vinyl loveseat, and he pulls her into his lap.

"Taylor, ready the jet to fly to Savannah for Miss Steele's mother," I murmur quietly.

"Already done, Sir," he replies, running his hands down his face. I raise an eyebrow at him. As ever, Taylor's on top of his game. "I called Andrea with instructions to let Mrs. Adams know."

I'm still in this room of vinyl and linoleum hell where they are going to tell us my Ana is dead.

"Bro, you need anything?" Elliot asks. I see the sympathy burning in his blue eyes. I don't think I even knew what color Elliot's eyes were until I met Ana. I know that before Ana entered my life that I didn't care to know.

I slowly shake my head, and I look down at the floor. "I need Ana." I don't raise my head to look at him. I'm sure Elliot's expression has turned to one of pity, and I refuse anyone's pity.

"Do we know who did this to Ana?" Kate demands, wiping at the tears that keep rolling down her cheeks. "Where was she when this happened?" Kate cannot ask a question without sounding like a reporter even when it applies to her best friend who could be near death.

Sighing deeply, I suddenly feel exhausted. I look at Kate, her strawberry-blonde hair is coming out of her messy ponytail. She looks like she just got out of bed. "Her fucking boss attacked her at SIP," I reply.

Kate gasps and her hand flies to her mouth. Her green eyes have widened. "That Hyde fucker?" she all but screams. "Jesus Christ! That sick fuck has been creeping Ana out since she started working there! He did this to her?"

My brows furrow in confusion. I try to figure out what she means. What in the fuck is talking about? I feel Taylor and Dad staring at me. Why is this the first time I've heard about this?

I lean forward, and my eyes narrow. "What exactly are you saying, Kate? This is the first that I've heard about this. Ana hasn't told me about any of this shit."

Fuck Anastasia! You, and your ridiculous ideas that you're able to protect yourself. This is so typical of you! Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell Parson? Fuck, Ana! Fuck!

Kate stares at Elliot. Elliot looks back at her curiously. My brother obviously knew nothing about this shit either, and he practically lives with Ana and Kate. Kate wraps her arms around herself in the same protective manner that Ana does.

God, just thinking of that makes my heart clench.

"He's been making her uncomfortable since her first day at SIP. Ana says he's always in her personal space, and he brushes into her all the time," she replies. "She told me he makes inappropriate comments about her appearance, and the fucker will tell her how beautiful she looks. Ana hasn't told you about him?"

Elliot's eyeing me warily, and he's waiting for me to explode on his girlfriend. I furiously run my hands over my face.

Why, Ana? Why didn't you tell me any of this shit? I could have fired the sick prick, and you wouldn't be dying.

"She never told me a fucking thing about any of this shit! I'm going to kill that son of a bitch. Didn't you tell her to report him, Kate?" I demand, my tone is harsh and angry. "Why didn't you tell Ana to tell me about it?"

Kate looks pissed, and she sits straight up. She's looking at me with every ounce of the dislike she has for me.

"Of course, I told her to report him, Grey. I told her every day! And, yes, I've repeatedly told her to inform you about the sick pervert every time that she sees him!" she bites, glaring at me. "Don't you think I encouraged her to tell you? Ana begged me not to say anything to you!"

My mother enters the room before I'm able to lay into Kate. The look on her face tells me everything that I need to know. She shakes her head with a look of apology on her face. She exhales deeply before sitting beside Dad.

"Ana is still in surgery. I tried to find out if the Neuro-ICU knew when they would be getting Ana. The charge nurse only knows they're receiving a post-surgical patient in critical condition." Mom hesitates. "Kate, did reach Ray or Carla? There isn't much I can find out because, by law, they can't divulge Ana's personal information with me."

Mom's words make Kate cry again, but she tells Mom that she notified Ray and Carla. "Grace, you're a doctor here. I don't understand why they can't tell you anything," she says, her voice thick with emotion.

Anastasia is in critical condition. I just want to hold my baby.

"Oh, sweetie. I don't have a problem getting information from certain colleague's, but the neurosurgeon operating on Ana is new here, and the nurses have to respect the staff confidentially rules the facility has now. We also can't access the computer records of anyone who isn't our patient."

"That's bullshit," I grumble. "Will anyone even bother to tell us once she's out of surgery?"

My mother looks at me with exhausted blue eyes. I put my head in my hands since I know that Ana could very well die. I wonder how I'll breathe again if that nightmare becomes my reality.

My body gives into exhaustion, and I slump back in my chair. I inhale deeply. This time, my nose isn't ensnared by the sickening Glade Plug-In.

This time, I smell the odor of a hospital. I smell the mixture of tears, regret, and death.

They are the smells of heartbreak, and now I know why.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi, everyone. I must thank each of you who left such touching condolences over the death of Matthew, my cousin, and best friend. There aren't adequate words to express how much they mean to me. The shock of Matthew's suicide has now turned into grief, and though my daughter believed I would quickly drown myself in writing, I'm struggling to find words to make into sentences. So, if whatever I've written sucks, please don't burn me at the stake. Thank you for bearing with my absence, and I'm glad that my daughter knows my Fanfiction password and thought to let those reading the story know that I hadn't walked away from it without a reason. Ab is like me when it comes to our invested readers, and didn't want mine to think I'd forgotten about them. Again, thank you all so much for your kindness during this God awful time in our lives.**

(As expected, this chapter required a lot of tedious medical jargon, but does answer the obscure hint I threw in Chapter One. I've started the next chapter, so it should be up soon.)

 _The FSoG Trilogy and all characters therein belong to E. L. James. The story, while mine, isn't a dissertation for a doctoral degree, so expect mistakes._

 _Chapter Three_

 _~Christian~_

Thirteen arduous hours after Anastasia's brutal assault, a tall, lithe, red-head, wearing faded surgical scrubs, enters the waiting room of the ICU where Ana will be taken. Mom must recognize her, for she quickly stands and the woman briskly strides our way. Taking this as a cue, Ray Steele is on his feet, rushing forward, the rest of us not far behind.

"The family of Miss Steele, I presume?" The woman asks, a weary look on her freckled face.

"Yes. I'm Ray Steele, Anastasia's father," Ray replies in an almost desperate tone of voice.

"Mr. Steele, I'm Dr. Erienne Marshall," she says, extending her hand to Ray. "I operated on your daughter. Shall we all sit?"

We collectively collapse into chairs, surrounding the surgeon, who looks like she just graduated from college. For her sake, her youthful appearance had better betray her expertise. This Dr. Marshall sits ramrod straight on the edge of her chair, glancing at us sympathetically and causing my stomach to drop.

"Dr. Trevelyan, are you Miss Steele's mother?" Dr. Marshall peers at Mom's name badge.

My mother offers a small smile that doesn't reach her tired, bloodshot eyes. Shaking her head, Mom gestures toward me.

"No, Dr. Marshall. Ana's mother lives out of state and hasn't arrived yet. My son, Christian, is Ana's boyfriend. How is Ana?" asks Mom.

"Miss Steele made it through the surgery without any complications and is currently being settled in ICU. She is—"

Ray brusquely interrupts her. "How is my daughter? Is she conscious? Will she be all right?" He demands.

Sighing, Dr. Marshall pulls her surgical cap off, an alarmingly serious expression on her face. I lean back in the chair, shutting my eyes and dreading what this woman is going to tell us.

"Mr. Steele, your daughter is in critical, but stable condition. She presented with a traumatic closed head injury. . . A significant skull fracture. The fracture caused a tear in an artery and brought about a large epidural hematoma. . . Or bleeding between the skull and brain. Once I gained access to the injury, I found that the bleed was quite larger than initially thought." She runs a hand through her hair before continuing. "The surgery itself was a success. I was able to evacuate the blood and cauterize the bleeding artery. The fracture was a clean break. . . Rather, there were no pieces of broken bone that had injured Miss Steele's brain matter or that I had to remove. The injured area, which is over the left temporal area of the brain. . . I apologize, the left side of your daughter's head, was cleaned without incident. However, I had to insert a catheter for two purposes—"

"Which are?" I blurt, cutting her off. My heart is hammering out of my chest and I can feel myself trembling. My mother frowns at me.

Dr. Marshall turns her exhausted attention to me. Her words feel like alcohol being poured into an open wound. She has to tell me something to ease the sting.

"Mr...?" she asks me. It's only then that I notice the trace of an accent. Irish, maybe? I stand, and we shake hands, her grip surprisingly firm.

"Christian Grey. I'm Ana's boyfriend."

"Mr. Grey, unfortunately, by the time Miss Steele was brought into the OR, her brain had already begun to swell. This swelling caused intracranial pressure. . . Pressure caused by the swelling can be dire. The catheter that's in place will work twofold: It will measure the pressure, along with draining any fluid that could cause further swelling."

"What if the brain swelling doesn't stop? What's the worst case scenario? asks Ray. He sounds utterly broken.

"Well. . . Mr. Steele, if the swelling and pressure were to increase, and we couldn't control it. . . The worst case scenario would be what is known as brain herniation," Dr. Marshall says, then sighs deeply. She's probably frustrated to be explaining such complex issues to people who have no idea what she's talking about. "There is no indication of that now, thankfully. Now, the pressure in your daughter's brain has increased, and that's because of the swelling. I reiterate, there is no indication of herniation now," she assures us.

"Herniate? What do you mean?" I ask as I run my hands up and down my thighs. From the corner of my eye, I see Taylor whispering to Luke Sawyer, who then turns and leaves the waiting room. Have they found that fucker Hyde?

Dr. Marshall weakly smiles at me. "Our brains don't have anywhere to go if they expand. Brain herniation means the brain tissue is moved or pressed away from their original positions. . . Pushed out of the skull via the surgical site or where the spinal cord emerges. Simply put, it's a catastrophic event."

Dad clasps Ray's shoulder when he drops his head into his hands. I vaguely hear Kate and Mia crying, and Elliot trying to comfort them. Mom gets up and sits by me. I search Dr. Marshall's face, fervently seeking a denial of what she's just told us. There isn't one. I feel pain lance through me and grind my teeth in mute desperation.

"Will this. . . Thing you've put in Annie's head stop the swelling?" Ray's voice is full of exhaustion and unexpressed emotion.

"Mr. Steele, that's our ultimate goal and we are treating your daughter aggressively. Her youth and good health are in her favor of making a full recovery. Yes, Miss Steele received a grievous injury, her condition is critical, but she is stable and holding her own. The next twenty-four hours are crucial, though. Every minute can bring positive or negative changes which will give us a clearer picture of what we might be facing," Dr. Marshall tells Ray, her voice full of heartfelt sympathy.

"What's Ana's prognosis?" I ask in an urgent whisper, then hold my breath awaiting her answer.

"At this point, answering that question would be speculation, Mr. Grey. And, if I dared to speculate, that prognosis could rapidly change if Miss Steele quickly responds to treatment."

"If?" Panic seizes me. A forgotten memory of having someone torn from my life creeps up my spine. I immediately shake it off.

Dr. Marshall looks at me indulgently. "Mr. Grey, I'm sure your mother would agree when I say there's always an 'if' when healing the human body. There's no concrete black or white answer; it's all gray. Some bodies heal quickly, but unfortunately, other's do not," she says.

I fist my hands due to the nagging, burning, ache in my chest. My head is throbbing from imagining how I can't live without Ana, and all of the ways I could kill Jack Hyde.

Dr. Marshall clasps her hands together and leans in towards us.

"Now let me tell you how I will be treating your daughter, Mr. Steele. You asked me if she is conscious, and the answer is no - and she won't be. Please, let me explain why. To promote healing, I've put Miss. Steele in a medically induced coma and have lowered her body temperature. I'm going to keep your daughter's body cool for the next three to five days because that's when the biggest part of the brain's inflammatory response to an injury peaks. She will also be given certain medications that will put her brain to sleep. . . Think of it as stopping an energy source, or cooling down an over-heated engine. With Miss Steele's brain essentially. . . Shut off. . . It will reduce blood flow, and in return reduce further swelling. This will allow the brain to heal itself. When your daughter's condition allows it, we stop administering the medication that's kept her asleep and re-assess her progress." Dr. Marshall's eyes take Ray in, gazing at him kindly. "I realize I just threw a lot of unfamiliar information at you, Mr. Steele, but do you have any questions for me? Can I clarify anything that I've told you?"

I am tormenting myself as I rerun yesterday's events in my mind. Could this hell have been prevented at all? Jesus, of course. . . Ana should have just fucking told me about Hyde months ago! Goddamn, Kavanagh should have told me - hell, she could have told Elliot! Why didn't I ever ask Ana about Hyde? I didn't like the fucker from the minute I read his employee file. Gut instinct, Grey. Gut instinct. Ignoring that instinct has Anastasia fighting for her life.

"How long will Ana be in this coma?" Ray asks, sounding morose.

The doctor purses her lips and looks at him thoughtfully. "I wish I could answer that, Mr. Steele."

No one utters a word. My eyes sweep across the room and at each of the artificial plants that are scattered throughout. I hear distant, softly spoken voices down the hall and I wonder if the words they speak resonate with the same kind of pain I'm overwhelmed by. Dr. Marshall and her barely-there Irish accent draw my attention.

"I should explain what to expect when you see Miss Steele so you'll be prepared . . ."

Forty-one days have gone by and Sleeping Beauty has yet to wake. Ana's face is no longer swollen and bruised; my eyes can now caress her beautiful face. Even though her skin is as pale as white marble and she has dark circles under her eyes, Anastasia is flawless. Her tiny frame is still the home of tubes going in and tubes coming out. A ventilator still forces air into her lungs with violent bursts, and a mass of monitors and intravenous medications surround her. My days and nights have long since meshed and turned into one black highway that I keep stumbling down. My inability to heal Anastasia leaves me feeling unbalanced and helpless. Intellectually, I know that everyone who loves Ana feels the same way, but I ignore their pain. I've witnessed and felt the anguish of Ray and Carla to the point where I've had to walk away from them. Everyone's collective fears and grief have reached a magnitude that I refuse to recognize.

The swelling and pressure inside Ana's skull abated two weeks after Hyde's assault, but Dr. Marshall left the drain in place for a few more days. She wanted to be cautious and certain that it would remain so, and luckily, it did. For the next two days, they weaned Ana off the coma-inducing medications, yet here we are, nearly a month later, and Anastasia refuses to wake up. We are continually told this isn't atypical; Ana's body is simply healing itself until she's ready to return to the land of the living. Every scan, test, and X-ray show that her damn, stubborn head has healed, but my girl is determined to defy us. Ana hasn't moved once. Not a twitch of a finger or a flutter of an eyelid, much less trying to breathe on her own. Each day, my gaze has settled on Ana's closed eyes, and a dull ache fills my chest. I know the warmth in her beautiful eyes. There is a vibrant life and an intensity in those blue pools that no one can deny. I am terrified by the thought that I will never see her eyes again. We all know that Anastasia is being kept alive by monstrous life supporting machines, intravenous fluids, and a disgusting feeding tube shoved down her nose and that if all were removed, she would die - possibly within minutes. No one has said it aloud, but I'm sure we all share the same thought: The sobering truth is that Ana may never open her eyes again.

I believe that Ray and Carla, along with her physicians, have given up on Anastasia. Yesterday, when Ana's asshole Pulmonologist told them that if Ana wasn't able to be removed from the vent soon, she would need to have her fucking throat slit and the breathing tube would be inserted into it. The cock sucker said he prefers his long-term coma patients to have tracheostomies, telling Ray and Carla it cuts down on pneumonia. Following that gut wrenching recommendation, Dr. Marshall warned that if Ana doesn't wake within the next week, she was looking at having a feeding tube inserted in her stomach; Ana would receive better nutrition than she is by the tube in her nose. She also suggested they start considering having Ana moved to a rehab center. A rehab center? A goddamn nursing home? I'll kidnap her and lock her in Escala first. Hearing Ana's parents reluctantly agreeing to the bullshit, forced me to cross the waiting room in an attempt to calm myself and put a safe distance between myself and Ray and Carla.

The ICU has a fucking ridiculous visitation schedule and one that I can't coerce the hospital's administration to alter for Ana. Only four visitors at a time are granted ten minutes with her, only four times a fucking day. I rush to Ana at the allotted times. Anyone else who wants a minute to see her, be damned. Even Carla and Ray aren't that selfish with the precious time they can spend with their daughter, and my behavior has caused many a heated argument in the waiting room, usually with one Katherine Kavanagh. I haven't had a single private moment with Ana since this fuck up occurred, and I want to scream at everyone that they can go to hell and leave me alone with my baby. I want to lay my head beside her still body and cry, tell her that I'd drain the entire Pacific to see her smile again. I want to whisper in her ear and beg her to wake up because I can't sleep due to nightmares of her being dead. All I'm able to do now is lean over her and hold her hand, murmuring my declarations of devotion to Ana softly, stoically.

I haven't been to the office since this ordeal began, and I don't care if I ever see the fucking place again. What's the point? If Anastasia dies, then I'll die with her, and I can't take my money with me. I've entrusted my father to handle anything of importance, and he has brought me shit that requires my signature. I go the penthouse to clean up and eat, all the while listening to Gail crying, much to my growing annoyance. I just can't handle anyone else's fear; a fear that increases the longer Anastasia stays asleep.

The only matter I concern myself with is finding Mr. Jack Hyde. That's why I'm at the end of a deserted hall in the hospital, leaning against a wall. I'm surrounded by Taylor, Welch, Dad, and Elliot. It's time for my pointless, daily brief concerning the useless nut sack, and how he's fallen off the face of the planet. I'm already scowling at Taylor and Welch, a long sigh slipping through my gritted teeth.

"Why do you discuss this shit every day, brother? You'd know the minute anyone caught wind of that fucker. Shit, going through this on a daily basis is only fucking with your head," Elliot says in a low voice, looking around to make sure no one is nearby.

Frowning at him, I raise a stern brow of disapproval. He isn't impressed or intimidated in the least. Restlessly, I stride to the window and stare pensively through the dirty pane toward the parking lot.

"Fuck, Elliot. We are dragging ourselves through this due to the unanswered question of how Hyde made it from his burnt out car on the south side of Puyallup, to downtown Seattle, where he was caught on an ATM camera withdrawing all of his funds. Either the fucker has wings and flew forty-five minutes, or someone drove him back to Seattle."

"If he's still in the area, then someone has to be hiding him. He wouldn't dare take the chance to be seen in public after his face was all over the news and in the newspaper after he attacked Ana," Dad says.

I turn back around and shove my fists in the front pockets of my jeans. Elliot's tugging at his hair, looking frustrated.

"Seattle's police department are the equivalent of the Keystone Cops," he mumbles, causing me to nearly laugh.

"What an astute observation, son," Dad says sarcastically. "We're sure that if he's left the area or Washington that he went by car. I don't suppose he magically reappeared at his house last night, Jason?"

"No, Mr. Grey. If anyone were to show up at his place we'd catch them. Not only do I have guys watching it, it's loaded with CCTV I had installed. I wish we had more than coverage of him at his bank, and the cooperation of those young women who are on the sick shit we found on his computer's. We are also watching each of those women." The disgust in Jason's voice is thick and unmistakable.

"It's a shame those young women won't talk. I do understand, though. They must be terrified of what Hyde could do to them, considering what he did to Ana," Dad replies, shaking his head.

"Of course they're terrified. I was terrified after watching that sick bastard in action!" Elliot exclaims. "Who does that kind of shit to women? That would still be torture, even if they'd been willing participants. Who gets their rocks off beating a woman with a cane until she's bleeding, and why in the hell would you want to in the first place? Sick fucker." Elliot looks sickened.

"Elliot, men like Hyde are better dealt with in calm deliberation. Don't doubt that a man running like a hunted animal can't be caught," Taylor says quietly.

I keep my eyes on the floor as Elliot talks, asking myself the same questions. They hit too close to home, even if I never beat a sub until she was bleeding. I know all too well why I wanted to cane women and was a Dom. However, Jack Hyde is demented. I was horrified watching the recordings that Barney found on his home computer. I can't stand to think about the acts he committed on those young women. The dungeon the cops found in his basement looked like a slaughterhouse. Just watching the footage reminded me of how I wish that I could have been a normal man - a normal human being like my father or Elliot. Yeah, Hyde is a psychotic sadist. . . But while I would never cross the lines of inhumane torture like he does, I'm still a fucked up sadist. Who knows if I'd have eventually ended up like Hyde one day? I'm almost embarrassed to look up, knowing that Taylor and Welch know all about my fucked up past.

"Welch, still no word about the partial print they found on Charlie Tango?" I ask, changing the subject.

"No, Mr. Grey. Neither the NTSB nor the FBI can do anything with it. The only way to find out who it belongs to would have to be a full print of someone who has a record."

"So, did you guys ever apologize to Barney for calling him an idiot?" Elliot asks, his eyes glittering with amusement. I think he's trying to lighten the mood. The trouble is that this topic just pisses us all the fuck off. Lightning the mood isn't possible.

"Mind your own business, El. I'm not in the business of apologizing, and maybe Barney just got lucky," I snap.

"Is this about the authorities coming to the same conclusion as Barney about who sabotaged Charlie Tango? asks my dad.

Elliot laughs while Taylor, Welch, and I give him an eat- shit- and- die look.

"Yeah, Dad. These three wouldn't listen when Barney told them he was positive the person who fucked with Christian's chopper was female." Elliot grins at me. He knows I can't stand Charlie Tango being referred to as a chopper. "Why didn't you take Barney's word for it, anyway? I mean, after all, he's your go-to- genius. If I were him, I'd be pissed off at all three of you. You told him he was nuts when he showed you the stature and walk being female, yet you believe it when the NTSB comes to the same conclusion."

"El, shut the fuck up. It didn't seem likely," I tell him, looking at my watch. It's nearly time for visiting hours and I'm not running the risk of any fucker, like the photographer, getting in to see Ana and fucking up my time with her.

"Son, have you come up with any woman who'd want to see you dead? I'm not being sexist, but I've never heard of a woman going to such lengths to kill someone," Dad inquires.

I look at Taylor and Welch in frustration. We're all shaking our heads. We can't fucking come up with anyone.

"No, but I hope it won't be too much longer before we find out who she is, and why the fuck she tried to kill me."

I glance at the time. It's minutes from visiting hours. Not bothering to excuse myself, I turn on my heel and hurry down to the ICU.

The ICU's double doors swing open, and Carla exits with Ray and Dr. Marshall behind her. Stopping to greet them, I frown, scrutinizing their behavior. Shouldn't they be heading in the unit, instead of heading out? Elliot has walked down with Taylor and me. He's decided he's going to pay Ana a visit this morning since he's got to be at a job site out of town in a few hours. I nod at Sawyer and Ryan, who I've had guarding the doors since Ana was brought in, much to the chagrin of the hospital's administration. The exiting trio stop and a smiling Carla hugs me. My heart rate increases. I can't help but wonder if they're making decisions about Anastasia that I don't agree with. . . Ones that I won't allow. Is something rotten in the state of Denmark?

"Good morning, Christian, Elliot. Ana is the only patient in the unit and Dr. Marshall is allowing us to spend thirty minutes with her, but still only four at a time. You, and whoever else wants to visit Ana can go ahead. Ray and I have already been with her," she tells us.

"How did Ana do over-night, Dr. Marshall?" I ask, my eye catching Kate and Mia approaching us.

"The nurses said Ana did well. They did tell me that on a few occasions Ana's heart rate and blood pressure increased, but not to a point of significance."

"Why would that happen? Did they have to call you?" I ask, panicked. I'm also distracted and fearful about Ana's parent's agreeing with Marshall's earlier suggestions. Kate and Mia finally reach us, both carrying cosmetic bags. It must be time for Kate to do Ana's hair, and Mia to paint her finger and toe- nails. Ana would be rolling her eyes at the very idea.

"No, Mr. Grey. Like I said, the night shift reported it only happened a few times, and neither were elevated enough that required them to call me," Marshall replies. "They gave her anxiety and pain medication, and both returned to normal."

I nod, chewing on my lip and glance at Elliot. He's rolling his eyes at his girlfriend and our sister. Carla smiles at Kate and Mia, hugging them both.

"Hello, girls. I was just telling Christian and Elliot that since Ana's the only patient in there this morning, Dr. Marshall says it's fine to stay with her for thirty minutes. You all go in and spend time with her. We're just leaving," says Carla as she pinches the bridge of her nose. "I've got to head back to the hotel. I'm wiped out."

Ray shakes my hand, mumbling something about going to the cafeteria. It's obvious that Carla's presence has grated on him. It's then that I notice my siblings and Kate are already in the ICU. I enter, only to stop and stand with them; Jon Munford, Ana's physical therapist is finishing up with manipulating her knees and ankles. He smiles when he spots us. Twice a day, every moveable joint in Ana's body is bent and massaged to prevent her muscles from atrophying due to the fact they aren't being used. Like they do every time I visit Ana, my eyes sweep across the many monitors and the bags of medicine hanging from an IV pole over her bed. Kate does the same; she's studied Ana's every treatment and medication. She's learned every normal lab value and vital sign. Her tenacity knows no bounds. As expected, I see her steadfast gaze of Ana's heart rate and blood pressure. From day one, it's run in the seventies and eighties. Right now, the number 110 is beside a flashing heart symbol. It's causing the monitor to make a loud beeping sound and a nurse walks over and turns the volume down. What the fuck? Maybe she isn't concerned because the PT guy is working Ana over? The nurse scurries back to the desk before Kate or I can pounce on her.

"Good morning, folks! How are all of you this fine morning? We're all done here, so I'll be out of your way shortly," he greets us cheerfully.

I can only stand the sight of another man's hand on Ana because he's in his late fifties and has been married for thirty years. He was also highly recommended by my mother. Munford has barely made his way from Ana's bedside when Mia and Kate descend upon her.

"Morning, Jon. We're all good. Have you noticed any changes in Ana? Yesterday, Mom told me there could be some changes since she's been immobile for so long," I ask, watching Mia already filing Ana's thumbnail and Kate bringing out the bottle of dry shampoo. Christ.

"Miss Steele is still doing remarkably well, in my opinion. I haven't noticed an increase in resistance, but like we all know, when Miss Steele does wake up, she's still going to need extensive physical therapy. She'll wake up sore, and will have a hard time with movement, but it won't be as bad as a patient who hasn't had any PT while in a hospital bed. Don't worry, Mr. Grey, we'll have Miss Steele up and dancing in no time," he says, then softly laughs.

"We all appreciate it, Jon," Kate pipes in, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"That's what I'm here for. If you'll excuse, me, I'm going to chart my work and I'll leave you kids to your visit." He trudges off to the nurse's desk.

"Thank you, Jon," I mutter, my eyes scouring the monitor above Ana. It shows everything from her blood pressure to her mean arterial pressure. Kate looks at me and gestures towards the nurse with her chin. Message was given and message was received, Kate irritating Kavanagh. I make my way to the nurse who turned down the sound of Ana's vital signs monitor. I'd guess that she's in her early thirties, and she's had a sour attitude every time that I've had to deal with her. Her name badge is turned around, so I can't see what her name is.

"Excuse me, may I have a word?" I cross my arms across my chest. She looks up at me, as does the second nurse and Jon.

"Certainly, what can I do for you?" she replies briskly, her sour attitude in place.

"I'd just like to know what's being done about Ana's elevated blood pressure and heart rate? Dr. Marshall mentioned she did the same thing overnight. I understood that it happened sporadically, but it's remained high since we've been in here. Shouldn't you be paging Dr. Marshall?"

I've managed to piss Nurse Sour Attitude off. She squares her shoulders and purses her lips, annoyance all over her face. Kate is beside me before she can answer.

"Ana's vital signs are higher than usual," she says, gesturing to Anastasia. "What's going on? Have you called her doctor yet?" I see Kate glaring at the nurse in the dim light of the ICU.

"No, I haven't called Dr. Marshall. I was getting ready to give Miss Steele some pain and anti-anxiety medication. She's just had physical therapy and it's possibly caused her some discomfort. If I call Dr. Marshall, that would be the first thing she'd order me to do. If Miss Steele doesn't respond to the medicine, then I will let the doctor know." She holds up two syringes and wordlessly makes her way to Ana.

This woman has just added more shit to an already shitty morning. Kate's finely arched brows draw together and she looks at me shaking her head as we trail behind Sour Attitude. As we reach Ana's bedside, I hear Mia give an airy laugh, presumably at something Elliot has said. They stop talking while the nurse cleans the port in Ana's chest and injects the medications into it. Kate is behind her, green eyes firmly planted on the monitor.

"Let's give that ten minutes and see if it cools things down. I'll come back then and re-assess Miss Steele," the nurse says, turning back on the monitor's volume and walking away.

"I know that I've said it a million times, but I really don't like that bitch," Elliot murmurs, leaning over the bedrail.

"Who does? She's been a bitch to me countless times. If she hates her job that badly, she needs to find a new one," Mia says not so quietly. "Christian, since it's nearly Halloween, I'm going to paint Ana's toenail's orange." Her voice is high and whiny.

Kate and Elliot groan along with me. Mia is digging through a massive bag full of girly shit and pulls out a bottle of nail polish the color of a pumpkin.

"Mia, if Ana knew that awful color was on her toenails, she'd stroke out," Kate interjects, grabbing the bottle from my sister's hand. "Leave her toes alone for now and just use a clear coat on her fingernails. You know she doesn't wear nail polish."

"And I thought Christian was the control freak! Oh, you're all so boring. Ana would love it, Kate! You know how she loves Halloween. I just know that she'd love a Halloween party this year," Mia says wistfully. "It could have been a costume party!"

Elliot snorts, still leaning over the bedrail. "Yeah, Ana and Christian could have dressed up as Beauty and the Beast." I know that he's trying to goad me with that large grin on his face. I don't respond.

I notice Kate is now using the dry shampoo to wash Ana's hair. Her hands are a bit too close to where her incision was. Dr. Marshall got lucky, she was able to only shave an inch of Ana's hair at the hairline over her ear. You can't even see it since Ana's hair is so long.

"Jesus, Kate," I mutter quietly. "You're getting too close to her incision site and you're being too rough. You're supposed to be washing her damn hair not giving her a fucking head massage."

"Yeah, Grey. It's where her incision was. The staples are long gone, and there isn't an incision. Do you think that I'm going to purposely hurt Ana?" she snaps at me.

Well, I don't like it. You could be hurting her!"

"That, Grey, is your problem, not mine. I'm nearly finished, anyway. Drop it."

"Jesus, this is more like a beauty shop than a hospital room. Kate's washing Ana's hair, and Mia's got the room reeking of finger-nail polish. The smell alone should be enough to wake Ana up," Elliot murmurs, causing Kate and me to throw him a scathing glare.

Before either of us can reprimand Elliot for his stupid insensitivity, a loud alarm from Ana's vital signs monitor fills the air, causing us all to jump. Four sets of eyes are set on the wildly blinking numbers. Ana's heart rate has more than tripled, and her blood pressure has rocketed. Elliot has stepped back from the bed while Mia continues to hold onto Ana's hand, gripping it, hard. Kate whips her head around to meet my eyes. Chewing her lip, she looks at me quizzically, and then glances at the two nurses heading our way.

"Is Ana okay?" Elliot asks, his voice is strained and cautious.

"Fuck no, she's not okay!" I run a hand through my hair and suppress the urge to choke the nurses. "Call Marshall before I do!" I demand loudly. My patience has reached its limit.

One nurse starts fucking with the monitor while Sour Attitude is scribbling away in Ana's chart.

"I doubt this is anything serious. This is most likely due to you all stimulating her." The older nurse doesn't even look at us.

I scrutinize her, staring at her stupidity while my legs shake. The silence between myself, my siblings, and Kate grows long and stilted as we watch the two nurses rushing around Ana. Stepping back from Ana's bed, I pull out my cell phone, not bothering to hide my furious glare.

"That's bullshit, and if the two of you believe it, then you deserve to lose your jobs! You will call Dr. Marshall or I fucking will, and both of you incompetent women will be looking for jobs elsewhere! Call her!" I roar them, my head is about to blow off my shoulders.

Kate points back towards the nurse's desk, and I see a third nurse on the phone paging Marshall to the ICU. I give Kate an affirmative nod, but her frown deepens. My outward display of bravery is covering that I'm inwardly a cowering mess. The monitor continues to squawk loudly; Nurse Sour attitude asks Mia to get off the bed.

The older nurse, whose name badge reads, "Sarah", tells the younger one to go get some meds, two of which I'm not familiar with. My eyes are locked on the fucking monitor. I can't tear my eyes off the ever increasing numbers, and I swallow nervously. God, what's going on? I can't stand the thought of what this could mean. Apprehension is climbing up my spine, and I'm about to lose it again, as the younger nurse scrambles to Ana and starts pushing whatever is in the syringes into her body.

Before I can explode, Dr. Marshall, along with two younger physicians enters the room. Marshall's eyes go straight to the monitor, and both nurses back up, telling her what's going on. She nods, her face serious, and grabs Ana's chart.

"Let's see what's going on with you, Ana, shall we?" Her voice is quiet, yet commanding. "How long since you administered these meds? she asks no one in particular.

"Less than five minutes ago, Dr. Marshall," the older nurse replies.

"We'll wait a few more minutes to see if we can get this under control."

Mia walks up to me and places her arms around my waist. Her eyes are clouded with tears. We have all backed out of the way of the medical staff, and Kate is wrapped around Elliot. Her eyes are wide and display her fear as she gazes at Ana. I gulp down the golf ball in my throat and watch transfixed, stroking my chin.

Dr. Marshall looks at the four of us. "Perhaps you should all step out," she says.

I resolutely shake my head, as does Katherine. I give Elliot a pointed look and he whispers something to Mia, causing them to slowly leave the room. Mia looks back with tears running down her face.

"I'm not leaving Ana," I reply. Kate says nothing and shuffles closer to me.

As Dr. Marshall opens her mouth to retort, the alarm on Ana's ventilator shrieks and the machine brightly lights up. She spins to it, squinting her eyes at whatever it's displaying, and punches several buttons on it. Kate gasps loudly behind me and grabs a hold of the bottom of my untucked shirt.

"Get respiratory up here, NOW, and turn up the damn lights!" Marshall orders, now looking between Ana's vital signs and the ventilator. She appears calm and collected, and very much in charge of the precarious situation.

My senses become dazed, stuck on the brink of time. As from a distance, my eyes observe the sudden flurry of activity around Ana. Now I notice another person, probably the respiratory therapist, in front of the ventilator changing the settings and suctioning Ana. Kate and I both turn our heads. We both find it too brutal to watch. The medical staff is thoroughly absorbed in their separate tasks, and they are now completely blocking our view of Ana.

I feel Kate trembling beside me, and I should really say something to comfort her, but I can't. My attention is locked on this carefully orchestrated chaos before us. The room is loud from the various alarms going off, and Dr. Marshall calmly giving the orders. Suddenly, one of the younger physicians who entered the room with Dr. Marshall hurriedly gets the crash cart and places it beside Ana's bed. Kate's knees buckle, and I quickly catch her.

"Oh, no. This can't be it! No, Ana, no." Kate wails loudly.

I stumble back in shock as I realize she may be speaking the truth. I open my mouth to demand Dr. Marshall tell me what in the fuck is going on, but I can't form any goddamn words.

The medical staff's work looks more frenetic, and Dr. Marshall looks me in the eye.

"You both need to leave. I'm not asking you; I'm telling you," she barks in a tone I've never heard from her before.

I start to shake my head again, but she doesn't care.

"No. Go. Now," she orders.

Kate and I stand there; we are both momentarily shocked. Then Kate pulls me by my shirt, and I reluctantly allow her to lead me from the ICU. The hydraulic doors shut behind us, and we both turn and stare at them.

Kate and I look at one another, as a grave understanding passes between us. We have no idea if Dr. Marshall will emerge from behind those doors and tell us that Anastasia is dead.


	4. Chapter 4

Once again, I have to thank those who offered their condolences in reviews and direct messages after the previous chapter. Heartbreakingly, I had one too many dear women write to me and share their story of a similar loss. Opening up to a complete stranger and telling them your personal heartbreak has been bonding and liberating. I can't thank each of you strong women enough. I wish telling our stories could take away the stigma that's attached to mental illness and suicide. I sincerely thank all of you who contacted me.

 _The FSoG Trilogy and all characters therein belong to E. L. James. The story, while mine, isn't a dissertation for a doctoral degree, so expect mistakes._

 _Chapter Four_

 _~Ana~_

Waking with a jolt, I am immediately met with hot, blistering pain. It's agonizing. The pain spreads from my head as it tears into my neck and ravages my entire body. I try to open my eyes to escape the pitch black darkness of sleep, only to discover they're fused shut. Suddenly, I'm thrown into a fit of panic and scream for help, but horrifically, I hear nothing; I'm unable to open my mouth. This has to be a nightmare or I'm trapped in sleep paralysis. But irrepressible fear grabs me when I realize I'm not in my own bed. My God, where am I?The darkness is deep and impenetrable, and I'm tightly held within it. My body begins to struggle and to fight my way out of webs of confusion and ferocious pain. There is no choice; I must rise up from this dark, clinging slumber and chaos. Thrashing through this battle, there is a suffocating pressure weighing on my chest . . . and . . . what . . . is this? Something foreign and rigid is down my throat and it reaches out to touch me every time it pulsates. I feel a cool mist around it that momentarily soothes the back of my raw throat. I try to take a gulp of air but this thing down my throat won't allow me to. It's violently shoveling a trail of air into my burning lungs. This nightmare feels like I'm drowning; waves are buffeting inside me, and I'm intermittently breaking the water's surface, only to be pulled back under. Strength has abandoned me and left me terrified. I feel my pulse begin to stutter and my heart rate picks up. A loud shrieking noise pierces my head with vile pain. I want to claw my way out of here, but I am blind, mute, and lifeless. Then my terror ebbs as a soothing warmth goes through me - a balm to my fear and pain. Unapologetic hands of darkness grasp my ankles and drag me to a seductive oblivion. I'm just too weak to fight.

My frantic heart rouses me. I vaguely hear a melee of noises and feel ghost-like movements around me. Pesky, warm hands touch me. They are moving my arms and legs - both sore and heavy, like anchors dropped at sea. A weighted vice is painfully pinching my head tightly; my blind search for a respite from the noise and deluge of agony is pointless. My heart feels like it's sprinting out of my chest, and I don't understand why the pesky, warm hands don't notice; my chest has to be vibrating. The shrieking engulfs my ears, and I hear the faint voice of a woman. She sounds so very far away. I'm desperate for the ability to articulate words that would capture her attention. I'd do anything for her to rescue me from this descending dusk that envelopes me. She touches my scalding nerve endings as air is pummeled into my lungs. My misery is resilient. The fear and panic increase; I'm in a maddening fight to save myself, however, it's becoming too cumbersome . . . too exhausting. My heart beats furiously, causing my blood to rush throughout me. My incoherent thoughts and the blaring noise begin to muddle as I feel a familiar, warm sensation saturate me. My pain calms; this heaving heart slows. Now the pesky, warm hands dip and sway. My mind is succumbing as a dark shroud of oblivion hovers over me. Reality slides from my tenuous grasp and I slip into a grayish fog. Please . . . someone help me.

My neck is being turned from side to side and the motion leaves me nauseous. Strong hands repeatedly rub or dig in my disobedient body. Soon every aching and twitching limb has been painfully manipulated. My discomfort, and ever present fear causes my heart's whimper to become a scream. I'm still trapped and shuddering in whatever state I've been thrown in. Am I even alive? Is this Hell without the devil and a pitchfork? This version of myself believes I'm better off dead as another force of air rocks through me. Although I'm lying flat, I feel dizzy and my thoughts are indistinct and wavering. In my cycle of despair, I imagine that I hear Dad's voice. He sounds as though he's at the end of a long tunnel. A dark tunnel full of shadows and my desperation. My inner turmoil concedes that Dad's presence is an irrational thought. My limbs are made of lead; those strong hands left me screaming in wordless pain. My mouth and eyes remain my enemy; they are resolutely shut. Suddenly, coming from that long tunnel, I hear familiar voices. Now this really doesn't make sense. Why would they be here? Add auditory hallucinations to my list of horrors. Yet. . . if my mind isn't deceiving itself, I have to get their attention. I must do something. I have to fight for them to notice me because I can't stay trapped in here a second longer. I am begging every bone in my body to slam against muscle and force my arms and legs to move. If I could force the blood that courses within my body to pulsate harder and faster, maybe they will touch me and feel a bounding pulse. . . please touch me. No! The loudest shriek is now flooding my ears and the voices float away. I want to scream and cry, but it's pointless. I'm wordless and in the dark; no one can hear or see me. I feel myself melting in a warm tranquilizing darkness. Fighting was futile . . .

"Jesus, Kate . . ." Those words grab me by the shoulders and violently shake me awake. That voice doesn't sound as if it's from a long, distant tunnel. No, that voice is close to me. Kate? God, I don't understand what I've done to deserve being stuck in this purgatory. First, I'm tormented by the sound of my Dad's voice, and now this. But gentle hands are now in my hair; I recognize the scent of the person they belong to. Kate. Oh, Kate is touching me! But what if she isn't real and is only in my mind? I'm panicking again and trying to scream so she can hear me. I'm here Kate! And now the ear-splitting noise has returned and won't stop. Kate's hands have long since disappeared. Strange hands roam my body and then the warm serum finds me again, but I refuse to allow it to drag me under. No, I am going to get someone's attention and prove that I'm alive. I have to get this thing out of my throat before it chokes me to death. I imagine that I have control over my body so I can escape this dark chasm. My heart feels as though it will explode with every blast of air that wracks my body. It keeps pummeling me and I can't take it anymore. Calm down, Ana. Somehow, I've got to keep these exhausting blasts of air out of my lungs. Oh, I'm fighting this, even though the pain it's causing is indescribable. Do it, Ana. Push against it.Keep talking to yourself and fight what's choking you; wake the hell up. Hands are all over me. I want to tell them that I'm struggling to find my way out of here. I'm fighting . . . I won't stop until I make my presence known. Suddenly, I feel a burst of air and I'm able to weakly push it away. Oh . . . the burn. Another blaring noise races over me, and I hear people and rushed, garbled words. I sense they are close enough to touch and I would grab someone if my body wasn't made of lead. Now I realize I must use every bit of the strength that I don't possess to push away each slam of air that's assaulting my lungs. The force of the air isn't as hard to push against now. I'm able to gasp over it . . . I gasp over it. I take a shallow, painful breath, and that damn noise grows louder. But I don't stop . . .

"Ana?"

Hmm?

"Ana, can you squeeze my hand just a bit stronger, this time?" I hear a woman ask me.

This time? Who is this woman, and when did I squeeze her hand?

"Ana . . . come on, my dear. Wake up for me," she continues.

I feel cool fingers prodding my cheeks and squeezing my hand. My body has finally reclaimed itself, but I haven't fully emerged from the darkness. How do I manage to do it? Remaining lifeless is no longer an option, but the harder I try to force myself to move, the more it hurts. I'm so, so tired and every inch of my body is encased in cement. But I have to wake up. I'm sore. . . so sore. If I can make my eyes open through this ripping pain . . . try . . . lift . . . twitch. I fight to at least make one open . . . 

"Yes, Ana! Try to open those eyes. You're doing so good. . . I'm right here." I hear the woman say. I've finally managed to win the fight with my eye lids because they're fractionally moving.

"Sarah, please bring me a wet, warm washrag. I'm going to clean up Miss Steele's eye's." Her face rests between the slits of both my eye lids. My vision is blurry, and the dim light sears my brain. The warm rag she washed my eyes and face with felt wonderful. I blink, slowly, and she smiles at me brightly.

"Welcome back, Ana. They weren't lying when they said you had lovely blue eyes." She has a pen light in her hand and looks utterly delighted.

She should. She isn't the one with something rammed down her throat.

"Ana, you're in the hospital. I'm Dr. Marshall and I've been taking care of you. I'm very happy to finally meet you," she says softly. "I'm going to check your pupils with this light, and your head isn't going to like me very much. So I apologize in advance."

My head pounds from the pen light's attack, but she seems satisfied with whatever she was looking for.

"Excellent. I know that bothered your head, Ana. I'm sorry. Now, this young gentleman beside me has been taking care of you, too. His name is Bryan, and he's a Respiratory Therapist. He's going to take that bothersome tube out of your mouth."

I weakly blink in response.

"Hi, Ana. Good to see you awake. I need you to take a deep breath and then I'll pull the tube out. It will be over with before you know it's out. You will most likely start coughing, and your throat is going to be sore," This Bryan tells me.

He was right on both accounts. The tube was gone before I knew it, and now I'm having a weak coughing fit. He places something that resembles a long Q-tip with a pink sponge on the end of it, in a cup of water, and rubs it around the inside of my mouth and on my dry, cracked lips.

"I'll take care of it from here, Bryan. Thank you," This Dr. Marshall says. She soaks it with water and places it back inside of my mouth. I relish its cooling relief. "That's better, hmm? Of course it is. Ana, do you think you could try to say something? Try to make some kind of sound for me? I'd like to get an early head's up on those pipes of yours."

She raises the head of my bed and my sore eyes take in my surroundings. I'm in a large, dimly lit hospital unit and I see a few nurses on the other side of the room. My eyes drift back to the doctor and I weakly clear my throat, quickly regretting it. My flesh feels raw and sore. I'd kill for a large glass of ice water.

"I know it hurts. I'm afraid your throat will be sore for a while since you were intubated for so long," she says, catching my attention with lightning speed.

For so long?

I've managed to pry my eyes open a bit more and open my mouth to speak. Nothing comes out. I look at the long Q-tip thing. This doctor somehow understands what I want, and soaks it again. I suck on it greedily, the tiny bit of moisture momentarily relieving my discomfort.

Smiling, she gets up and my eyes painfully follow her across the room. She comes back with the Styrofoam cup in hand and places a straw in it. "Here's a bit of water. It may be hard for you to draw it up through the straw. Let's see if that wakes your voice up."

It is a struggle to pull up any water in the straw, but I eventually claim a small sip, and then another.

The doctor sits the cup on the bedside table and beams at me. I finally notice she's perched on the bed by me and leaning toward me. Freckles are sprinkled across her nose, and for the first time my mind acknowledges her braided red hair. She looks too young to be a doctor.

"Excellent job, Ana. Let me fill you in on a few things, all right?" She pauses, probably because the sound of her voice made me wince. "I'm sure you're hurting and we'll give you some pain relief soon, I promise. But I don't want to knock you out before I see how your head is doing. Hang on, won't you?"

She did notice. I will my aching head to imperceptibly nod.

"Good. I have spoken to your family and they know that you're awake. They'll be able to come see you very soon. Ana, you've been in the hospital because you suffered a serious head injury. It fractured your skull and required emergency surgery. You've remained unconscious, here in the ICU, since then. Do you recall anything about hitting your head, Ana?"

Fractured my skull?

"No," I force myself to grunt. My voice sounds terrible. What did she say her name is? Oh, yes. Marshall. Dr. Marshall.

She smiles at me and nods. "That's perfectly normal and nothing to be concerned about. A head injury often causes a person to not remember how they sustained it. Some believe it's our brain protecting itself from remembering a traumatic event," she tells me. "I'd like to ask you some questions to make sure that pretty head of yours is fine. Don't worry if it takes you a second or two to remember anything, all right?" She nods her head reassuringly. "Do you know what year it is, Ana?"

I eye the cup of water and she lets me take a few small sips. It's easier to pull the water to my mouth this time. I swallow, shuddering at the soreness of my throat. "11," I rasp.

"Do you mean 2011?" she quizzes me. I nod.

"Good. When is your birthday?"

"September 10. . . 89." I whisper. My throat feels raw. Oh, where's this pain relief she was referring to?

Dr. Marshall nods, grinning at me, and lets me have another sip of water. "Perfect, just perfect. So how old are you?"

She's throwing softballs at me. "Twenty-one." I hope she could hear that almost audible croak.

I watch her forehead crinkle for a minute as she appears to be thinking about something. But her face relaxes as though she's reassured herself. I'm granted another pearly grin.

"You had a birthday right around the time you were injured. Do you remember turning twenty-two? As I said, it was around the time that you were hurt, and our heads can play games with our memories during that time frame. Don't panic if you can't remember." Dr. Marshall is staring at me intently.

I had a birthday around the time I was injured? Just how long have I been here? "No," I whisper more forcefully this time. Dr. Marshall offers me another sip of water. She starts to say something, but I interject. "H . . . long 've been here?" I ask, my words are garbled. My head and body are sore and heavy. Both scream for rest.

She offers a small smile and nods. "Of course. I should have told you. You were brought in forty-one days ago, Ana."

Excuse me? I've been here that long and I've had a birthday? How can that be possible? Shit. Shit. Shit.

Dr. Marshall must pick up on the fact that the gears in my pounding head are spinning. She gently squeezes my hand, and I'm beginning to feel disquiet. My heart starts beating faster. "Ana, I know you don't remember your birthday in September. . . what is the last month you do remember?" she asks, this time her pearly grin seems forced and plastered to her face.

My body is yelling for help, my thoughts are scrambled, and I've just noticed an uncomfortable tube between my thighs. A catheter. Gross. How can this woman expect me to think straight? Right now, I don't care what month it is. I just need some relief from my traitorous body. I'm miserable, and she's beginning to make me feel uneasy.

Dr. Marshall's cocked her head to the side. "Can you recall, Ana?" she asks slowly, scrutinizing me.

I blink several times and tears begin to fill my eyes. My heart is racing faster, and that damn, deafening noise starts again, and tears my head off. I find the strength to shake my nod.

"June." My voice sounds like I've gargled rocks.

Dr. Marshall stands and looks at the monitor before she turns the volume off. I close my eyes, giving them a reprieve from the dim, yet, painful lighting. Tears are rolling down my face. I feel someone wiping them away with a tissue, and open my eyes to find an older woman standing on the opposite side of my bed. She's wearing white scrubs and has kind eyes. She's smiling at me.

"Ana, this is Sarah. She's one of the nurses whose been caring for you," Dr. Marshall tells me.

Sarah gently rubs me on the arm. "It's good to see you, my dear."

I look at her and nod, too exhausted to attempt to choke out any more words.

"Ana. . . look at me. I need you to help me out here," Dr. Marshall tells me. Her words are still spoken softly, but now sound insistent. She's holding a small notebook and pen now, and her expression remains pleasant, but I see the underlying concern. "I know your head must be feeling quite miserable right now, but I need you to try and think very hard for me, Ana. I need for you to tell me the very last thing that you can remember."

I shut my eyes again and my heart beats faster. The last thing that I remember? My head can't take the pain of remembering. I'm not sure if I begin to drift off trying to remember or not, but what I do remember feels more like a dream. Oh, yes . . . that's why it doesn't make sense that Kate and Ray are here. I open my eyes. Dr. Marshall is watching me like a hawk, and puts the straw up to my lips.

The cool liquid is beginning to feel like razors scraping the back of my throat. "Savannah," I whisper.

"You can remember Savannah? Are you saying that you recall being there? You went to Savannah?"

"Yes… to see my…mother." Talking is only exacerbating my pain and exhaustion. I'm not sure I can stay awake much longer.

Dr. Marshall scribbles in her notebook. She must be writing a book about women with fractured skulls who stay asleep for over a month and wake up a year older. Wait a minute . . . that's not possible.

"Ana, do you recall how old you were while you were in Savannah?" she asks.

"Twenty-one . . . after graduation." This time it's Sarah who gives me some water. I try to smile in appreciation. My facial muscles don't cooperate.

Dr. Marshall is studying me like I'm a homework assignment. Her face is void of expression. She's holding her thoughts very close to her chest. "And when did you graduate?"

"May," I murmur with lazy lips. God, my throat hurts and my eye lids are fluttering shut.

"You said you remember June. Did you stay with your mother until June?" she prods.

She's confusing me and the sound of her voice is worse than nails on a chalkboard. Stop trying to confuse me. I don't reply and I can hear her sigh.

"Let me paraphrase what we've ascertained thus far. Ana . . . Ana, stay with me. I need your help. The last thing you recall is being in Savannah. You went there to visit your mother this past May after you graduated and you were twenty-one. Correct? Just nod yes or shake your head no. We'll rest your voice for a second or two."

I nod, my eyes are two narrow slits that are desperate to close.

"Now I want you to try and remember your last memory of what you did while you were in Savannah. I really need to know the last thing you remember before you were injured. Please try and think for me."

My head just can't do this anymore. It just can't. Everything is fuzzy and disjointed and I can't piece anything together. Yet . . .

My eyes open. How can I get words out of a broken mouth? Nurse Sarah must be a mind reader. She's holding the straw to my lips. I'm just able to draw any water in my mouth and my eyes droop shut.

"No solid . . . mem'ry. Bits. There were . . . clouds. On phone . . . Mom . . . s'there. S'June," I whisper.

"That's all you can recall?" Dr. Marshall asks briskly.

I nod my head that's made of concrete and pray to escape this pain. Please put me out of my misery.

"Ana, come on and stay with me." She pinches my cheek quite hard. "You'll get some pain medicine soon, I promise. But I need to know if "no solid" and "bits" mean that you don't have one concrete memory. You don't have one single, concrete memory? Is that what you meant, Ana?"

Nurse Sarah gently pats my arm and it causes my rigid and tense muscles to spasm painfully. I wince.

"Water," I whisper. Hurriedly, Nurse Sarah once again places the straw in my mouth. She takes it away much too soon. "No ... s'lease . . . hurt," I manage to slur, my lips weigh a ton. My eyes are shut and they refuse to open. I'm hurting so badly, and don't care about what happened to me, where I am or what month it is. I just need to be free from this mounting agony. Please.

I vaguely hear Dr. Marshall speaking to me, but I no longer attempt to make out her words. My ears even ache. Her voice becomes a mingling of murmurs, and then the warmth that brings sweet oblivion hits my veins. I inwardly sigh and fall in the welcoming darkness.

The reason it took me a while to post this chapter is because I wrote the chapter and wasn't sure if I liked it. I ended up writing 2 other versions, only to discard them and use the 1st one. I wrote Ana going through this after she regained consciousness because of a fear I have. When I was an RN, I often cared for patients like this Ana, and I'd consider how it would feel to be awake in your mind, but unable to move or communicate with the world around you. Then I cared for someone with Guillain-Barre Syndrome. They stayed in the condition this Ana did, for several weeks. Once they recovered, they described exactly how terrifying that was, and it scared the hell out of me.

I took their description of spending weeks in such a state and made this Ana go through the same. Some of you think/will say that I took 4 paragraphs and described the same thing using different words, but I did have to match up what happened in the previous chapter.

I also wanted to be realistic about the condition this Ana would be in after just waking up from a coma. I couldn't waste your time by expecting you to read something unrealistic.

So Ana is awake, and about to be face to face with Christian, and we'll have arrived at the beginning of their story. I know what you're assuming. Stop assuming it.

I didn't answer or reply to any questions or comments in the Chapter 3's reviews, but I will after this chapter's been up a day or two.


	5. Chapter 5

_The FSoG Trilogy and all characters therein belong to E. L. James. The story, while mine, isn't a dissertation for a doctoral degree, so expect mistakes._

 _Chapter Five_

 _~Ana~_

 _~I need to warn any reader who has been sexually assaulted that this story briefly touches on that horrific topic. No one is assaulted in the chapter nor did I describe an assault. I briefly wrote about the feelings and fear a woman may have after she has been sexually assaulted, or feared that she had been. It's only a small portion at the end of the chapter, but I know it could still be enough to trigger someone who has been forced to endure such an attack. I did place an * where it begins and ends~_

"Ana, you're healing so well that my role will no longer be prominent in your care. That's why Dr. Berman is now your primary physician. As a neurologist, she will be watching out for additional neurological setbacks or deficits, and since she's also a neuropsychologist, Dr. Berman will be invaluable helping you deal with your retrograde amnesia. Your pain will be controlled by pushing the red button I've shown you. This medication won't keep you knocked out like you were in ICU. Being that medicated is the reason you don't recall the past two days or being moved to this unit," Dr. Marshall says, my opened chart is resting on her lap. "So, is there anything you'd like to ask either of us?"

Dr. Marshall is sitting beside this Dr. Berman, a pretty, brunette woman. Just like Dr. Marshall, she doesn't look old enough to be a physician. I am eyeing both warily. They've yet to answer me when I've asked what happened to me or where I am. Neither woman has a southern accent, nor does Nurse Nora, the brusque and domineering woman who woke me up this morning. Her loud and incessant calling of my name brought me to consciousness, and I found myself in this private hospital suite. Disoriented, I felt her briskly taking my vital signs, and then she essentially funneled apple juice down my throat. Nurse Nora, whose name badge was turned around, wouldn't answer my questions either, telling me to wait for Dr. Marshall to arrive.

"Yes. I'd like to know what happened to me," I whisper. God, my voice sounds terrible.

"Ana, we're not trying to keep anything from you. Dr. Marshall wanted to introduce us, and have me assess your condition before we begin explaining everything to you. We both agree that having your loved one's present would be best," Dr. Berman explains. "I don't say that to frighten you. Everyone has agreed that having support would be beneficial since you're going to have a lot of information thrown at you. Plus, your family and friends can fill in more holes in your memory than any doctor could."

Her words cause tears to pour from my eyes. There is a large lump of snot and tears in the back of my throat, and I'm longing for Nurse Nora and her funnel of apple juice. Dr. Berman wipes my tears away.

"Why didn't my family tell me anything while I was in ICU? You told me that they all saw me after I woke up."

Dr. Marshall smiles and strokes the side braid that Nurse Nora's flying fingers created.

"They did visit every chance they could. But you were heavily medicated, Ana. You weren't in any condition to communicate," she answers.

"Oh. So, this is the first time. . ."

"That they'll see your pretty smile? Yes. You have several people out in the waiting room who are threatening to break the door down to see you. One, in particular, doesn't understand what the word patience means," Dr. Berman pipes up.

"Can they. . . I'm ready. . ."

"Of course, Ana. I'll go get them. Hopefully, they'll be able to jog your memory and ease your anxiety. Dr. Berman will stay with you."

I take a deep breath and the cool air irritates my raw throat. Swallowing hard, I peek over at Dr. Berman and begin to cry again.

"Are you crying because you're afraid of what you may find out?" she asks.

I nod, and raise my still heavy and sore arm to wipe my nose with the tissue she places in my hand.

"Yeah. I'm scared that it's bad. Everything that I've picked up on this morning doesn't bode well. It seems like red flags are popping up all over the place."

Dr. Berman looks at me thoughtfully. "What do you feel that you've picked up on, Ana?"

I scoff at her. "That's the psychologist in the neuropsychologist asking me that question, isn't it?"

She laughs softly. "Perhaps, but my concern is where your main anxiety stems from. It can also give me a picture of you neurologically. Like Dr. Marshall explained to you, the brain is tricky, and the site of your injury can affect many things."

God, now I'm afraid that I'm going to end up an invalid. "Well, why hasn't anyone told me the date? There isn't even a calendar in this room. When I asked Nurse Nora, she deflected and evaded my question like a politician. Wouldn't that scare you?"

"I'm happy to see you didn't lose your sense of humor, and yes, that would scare me," she replies. "Your family agreed with Dr. Marshall and me when we suggested filling you in all at once. We knew you would have questions that you'd want answered immediately, and that's why we came to see you so early. Everyone is desperate to ease the anxiety we know that you're experiencing."

"I can understand that, but it doesn't lessen the fact that I feel like throwing up. I'm already in tears because I fear the worst. I'm certain that hearing the truth will only make me cry harder. I'm just afraid. I'm desperate to see my parents, but I'm also afraid to see them."

"That's understandable. You just explained the definition of being scared of the unexpected. Everyone has experienced that feeling at some point in their lives, Ana. You're no different, no matter that you suddenly awoke in a hospital without the memory of knowing how you got here. Dr. Marshall and I will be in the room. We'll be here if things become too much for you. Pushing too much information at a patient, such as yourself, can be harmful. I promise that we won't allow that to happen to you," she assures me.

"And I don't understand why my mind recalls some of May with such clarity, and then seems to stutter and stall. I remember so many things. . . I remember feeling things. How can I remember feelings but not the memory behind them? I can't comprehend why my mind seems to have chosen to turn on and off during that period of time. Everything inside my mind feels shredded and fuzzy."

"I don't mean to sound like a broken record, Ana, but remember what I said after you told us what you do recall. The brain is so complex that modern medicine doesn't understand it. In fact, I doubt it ever will. But we do know that injured brain matter can't rejuvenate. Once it's gone, it never comes back. The brain cells your head injury damaged didn't leave behind rhyme or reason about the havoc they've left. I've treated people who lost their entire life from injuries similar to yours and I've seen other's who've woken up and not lost a minute of their life. Your condition isn't uncommon, Ana. I know that doesn't make you feel better or lessen your fears, but we will work on the foundation of your life from May until now. The smallest action or familiar act might cause your memory to return. That's why having your family here is so important. I know we've just met, Ana, but trust me. I'm here as your doctor, but I'm also here to support you."

I grab a hold of Dr. Berman's outstretched hand, but before I can reply, the door to my room opens, startling me. She stands as Dr. Marshall strides in. She's grinning at me, but looks exasperated. Dr. Berman raises the head of my bed higher.

Suddenly, Mom and Ray appear in the doorway. They're both frozen in place and seem unsure of what to do. As expected, my mother is crying quite loudly. Ray's fists are in the pockets of his khaki's and his eyes are watering up. Both are staring at me like they've never seen me before. The room is quiet while we all stare at one another. I immediately note several odd things about my mother. One, her short hair has grown out considerably. Two, her year-round Savannah tan has disappeared, and three, she's wearing a thick, turtleneck sweater and has a black North Face raincoat draped over her arm. I'm not a meteorologist, but I don't think the temperature in Savannah, Georgia ever dips low enough to require such apparel. For the first time, I look outside the windows and see the gray sky dropping large rain drops. I hadn't bothered to look when Nurse Nora opened the blinds this morning.

"Oh, Anastasia. . ." Mom starts to say between tear soaked hiccups. She's placed both her hands over her mouth, and as usual, can't seem to gain control of her emotions.

"Come inside," Dr. Marshall orders, gesturing for them to enter the room. "Have a seat."

Ray shuffles into the room and heads straight for me. Bending down, he kisses me on the forehead. I breathe in the comforting smell of Old Spice aftershave. How can you miss someone so much when you've been unconscious and blissfully unaware of the fact that you've been missing in action?

"Annie, you're the most beautiful sight I've ever seen. This old man has missed you," he says, each word loaded with emotion. He looks back at my mother, who is still rooted in the same spot. "Carla, are you just going to stand there staring at our daughter?" He sounds irritated at her as usual.

Mom nods, her sobbing now sniffles. She smiles, enters the room, and makes her way towards me. Taking a deep breath, my heart is pounding frantically with dread. Suddenly, this has become too real. I'm now thrown at the sight of my parents; do I really want to know what happened to me? Yes, I do. God, no I don't.

Before Mom reaches my bedside, the door slowly begins to creak open, and I feel an electric current run through my body. I glance up and find myself locked in the bold, gray gaze of Christian Grey. Everything and everyone in the room melts into the background. All I can see is Christian. My stomach twists into knots as I watch him stride over to me, appraising me from head to toe. He's a vision of masculine beauty in jeans, a black cashmere sweater, and hiking boots. No one. . . absolutely no one, should be this gorgeous. Christian is sitting on the edge of my bed in the blink of an eye. He raises my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles repeatedly.

"Oh, Anastasia. . . I have missed you so much, baby. You're back. You came back to me," he murmurs against my hand. "God, I love you, Ana."

His unruly, dark copper-colored hair is too long, and it looks like he hasn't shaved in a few days. His soft words escape in a rush and sound tormented. I stare at his beautiful face, mesmerized. The butterflies in my stomach are the same ones I felt the day I met him. I can't believe Christian Grey is being so affectionate and demonstrative in the presence of others. He still unnerves me, and a cat has my tongue. I say nothing.

My senses return, and I hear the chattering between my parents and Dr.'s Marshall and Berman. I tear my eyes from Christian's and look at them all smiling at us.

"You're right, Mrs. Adams. This young man's obvious adoration may kick-start your daughter's memory," says Dr. Berman in a teasing manner.

Christian squeezes my sore hand. "I'd do anything to make that happen." He's watching me intently. I finally gather my scattered wits and manage to smile at him shyly. Surprising me, he bends down and kisses me chastely on the lips. "I love you," he says, leaving me speechless.

"Ana, do you think that you're ready to have this discussion?" Dr. Marshall asks. The door to my room suddenly opens and Nurse Nora brings in two more chairs. She wordlessly places them at the foot of my bed and both doctor's sit down. She leaves as quickly as she came in.

Glancing around me, I see that I'm surrounded by five sets of eyes that are staring at me expectantly. I nod.

"All right, Ana. How about we expedite things and we'll catch you up. You're going to have questions, and I want you to speak up when you need to. We've told you that we don't mean to frighten you, but you are going to hear things that will upset you. If this becomes too much for you, we're going to stop and pick this up at a later time. How does that sound?" asks Dr. Berman, who now has a pen and notebook in her hand.

"I understand, Dr. Berman. I just need to. . . know."

Christian is rubbing my hand against his stubbly cheek and my mother is sniffling. Ray is looking everywhere but at me. Well, fuck if their behavior is a promising sign.

"Okay, I'm going to jump in with the basic questions that you've asked," she says. "Ana, you were brought into the hospital on September 9th. You've been in the hospital for forty-three days, and today's date is October twenty-first. Yes, the year is still 2011."

I am awash with confusion, and I frown. The room is deathly quiet. I don't think anyone is breathing as they all look at me and wait for my reaction. I am reassembling my jumbled thoughts and trying to gather a hint of how it could be October. I was injured in September? The day before my birthday? My mismatched mind thinks it's June. I don't understand. I look over at Mom.

"I was with you. . . in June. I was with you, Mom. I remember being here, and it was June. Did I stay here? I didn't go back to Seattle?" I ask. "Why didn't I go back to Seattle, Mom?"

My mother opens and closes her mouth several times before Christian answers for her. She seems to be at a loss for words. He is running his thumb along my cheek bone.

"Anastasia, you did come home. You stayed with Carla for a week and then you flew home. Taylor picked you up from the airport and brought you back to my apartment. We stayed in all night and had dinner, and the next day I took you out on—"

"Excuse me, Mr. Grey. Let's keep the basic facts linear," Dr. Berman interrupts him. "Ana, you left Savannah the first week of June as planned and came back to Seattle. After you came home, you never went back to Savannah. Ana, you aren't in Georgia. Today's date is October twenty-first, and you're in Harborview Medical Center in Seattle." Her gaze holds mine, her eyes probing, and her words are matter-of-fact.

It's like she's punched me in the stomach. I exhale deeply. My mind is reeling; my head swims with an uncomfortable feeling that I can't name nor do I want to. This situation is utterly nonsensical. It's so fucked up that I'm no longer afraid. Hell, I'm Alice, and I face planted into Wonderland. I look between my parents and Christian. They all look anguished.

"You're telling me that I've lost several months of my life? You're saying that I've walked, alive and breathing, from June - no, scratch that. I should have said May, since that's when my mind goes bonkers. So, from May until September. . . it's as if I was asleep the entire time? I haven't the slightest. . . What have I been doing?" I've raised my raspy voice until it cracks, and Christian quickly and deftly pours me a glass of water and puts it up to my mouth. I peer up at him. His gray eyes are bleak.

"Thank you," I whisper after I drain the cup. He offers me a small smile.

Dr. Berman sighs, and I uselessly try to block out the sound of my crying mother. I wish that Ray would tell her to leave the room. The only person in this room who deserves to cry is me.

"Your description is accurate, I'm afraid," Dr. Berman answers. "Would you like Mr. Grey to fill in these past few months?"

Christian doesn't allow me a chance to answer. He speaks carefully. "We've been together since the beginning of May. You live with Kate in the apartment down in the Pike Market District. Do you remember moving into that apartment?" he asks me.

"Of course, I do. We signed the lease before graduation. Before I met. . . you."

Christian stares at me. There's a disconcerting expression on his face. What's that about?

"Mr. Grey, continue as we discussed, please. You'll have time to discuss small details later," says Dr. Marshall in an annoyed tone of voice. Christian glares at her. Dr. Berman is writing her hand off.

"Anastasia, Christian told us that you still keep a journal. Honey, you can read that, and hopefully, something in it will jog your memory. Both Dr. Berman and Dr. Marshall agree that your journaling could help you piece together those small details Dr. Marshall is referring to. Kate's gone to your apartment to find it," Mom says.

I catch Christian narrowing his eyes at my mother with an indecipherable look on his face. Perhaps he feels that she interrupted him and he doesn't like it?

"Carla, Ana's journal may be at my apartment. I'll look for it. She was there the night before the. . ." He stops talking and turns his attention back to me. "Okay, baby, let me get back on track. You moved in after you returned from Georgia. Kate was in Barbados for most of June with her family and my brother, Elliot. You got a job at Seattle Independent Publishing, and that's where you were working until. . ." His words trail off and he is clenching his jaws. I don't probe for the reason.

"I remember interviewing there." I look pointedly at Dr. Berman. "When did I start working there?" I ask.

"The week after you returned from visiting your mother."

"Oh. And I worked there until I was hurt?" Ray grunts at my question. I look at him, but can't see his face. He's turned and is looking out the window.

"Yes," Christian replies curtly, his expression hardening.

Dad and Christian's change in disposition is drastic. The atmosphere in the room has changed completely. Where it felt wrought with anxiety, it now feels oppressed by anger. I search Mom's face for an indication to what their behavior means. She wears her emotions on her too expressive face and she doesn't let me down this time. Her red rimmed eyes are pouring tears as fast as she can dash them away. Shit. I mechanically turn my head to Berman and Marshall. They'll no doubt be unbiased and I'll be able to gauge their moods easier. Dr. Marshall's arms are crossed and she's frowning at me, her eyes seem to be searching mine. Dr. Berman has abandoned her note taking and is studying me as well. Her lips are pursed and she has tilted her head to the side. What am I? A bug? That, or the topic at hand is significant. Dr. Berman told me to ask questions, so here goes.

"Why has bringing up my job caused such reactions from you all? It's clearly pissed off Dad and Christian. Mom, you look like you did when our first dog died. Someone explain, please?"

"Mr. Steele?" Dr. Berman asks.

Ray stands up and shakes his head no. He shoves his fisted hands back into his pants pockets and walks to the window, his back to us. My mother gets up and goes over to him, and surprisingly, pats him on the back. I can't make out what they're murmuring to one another. My muscles are sore and weak, but I use them to push up higher in the bed. Something is definitely wrong and I want to know what.

"Ana, on the—" Dr. Berman begins, but Christian cuts her off.

"No. Allow me to tell Ana," he says, shuffling himself closer to me. He's holding my hand so hard it's almost painful. He inhales deeply, and it seems as though he's steeling himself against some oncoming disaster.

"Baby, the night you got hurt . . . Shit! You were hurt the night before your birthday." Shockingly, Christian's eyes tear up and he uses his thumb to wipe the falling tears. I stare at him with what must be amazement on my face and I hear him choke out a sob as he turns away. I rub his arm with the hand that he's let go of.

"Christian, what's wrong?" I whisper. "Christian, everything is all right, please don't be upset." I then begin to cry and hold the shredded tissue in my hand up to my mouth. Christian's shoulders are shaking as he sobs, and both Dr. Berman and Dr. Marshall approach him.

"Mr. Grey, I believe it's best if Dr. Marshall or myself tell Ana. Mr. Steele and Mrs. Adams, please come and sit by Ana. You both and Mr. Grey have to support Ana while she hears this," Dr. Berman says softly. "Mr. Grey, can I get you some water?"

Christian shakes his head and takes the tissues she's holding out to him. Wiping his eyes, he turns his tear stricken face back to me and grabs my hand back. My mother and Ray sit, and I reach out for Dad to take my other hand. I don't have to be told what's about to happen. I knew Christian was going to tell me how I was hurt, but now I know it must have been bad. From the forlorn faces before me, it must have been very bad. Dr. Berman sits on the edge of my bed beside Christian before she begins to speak.

"Ana," Dr. Berman begins calmly. I hold her sympathetic gaze and she gently places a hand on my calf. "Mr. Grey was going to explain how you were injured. I need for you to be honest with me, Ana. Do you feel ready to hear this? You've been told we don't mean to scare you, but what happened to you is going to frighten you, and rightfully so. Now, think about that for a moment, okay? Only you know if you are emotionally ready to hear this."

I dash the tears off of my cheeks as best that I can, looking into her eyes. The fear and anxiety that I'd been consumed with all morning has returned. Both feelings had been paralyzed by Christian's presence and how overwhelmed I've been by his behavior. No, every hair on my body is standing up, and dread is tingling down my back. Knowing that they are all looking at me only adds to this uneasiness that's increasing ever so slowly. Something really bad happened to me. Something so bad that Ray refused to tell me. It was so bad that it has rendered Christian Grey speechless and made him weep. These unwelcome tears keep flowing as fast as my mother can wipe them away. I'm so terrified that I have the urge to throw up.

"Tell me, please," I whisper.

"You were ending your work day on Friday, September ninth, Ana. Nearly everyone had already left for the day, save two of your fellow employees, both were women. You left the building, only to remember that you'd forgotten a manuscript. Mr. Grey had a member of his security personnel watching over you in the capacity of a body guard and driver. You told this man that you needed to return to your office and the two of you argued over you entering the building alone. You went in on your own, and your—"

"Close protection officer," Christian snaps at her, taking me by surprise. Dr. Berman is unfazed.

"Your close protection officer did not follow you inside. As I said, there were two women still in the building. They didn't see you go into your office, and since no one knows what manuscript you were after, there's no way of knowing if you did. For some reason, you did go to the employee break room. The women stated that a while after you'd re-entered the building, they heard you screaming for help." Dr. Berman stops and Christian dabs at the tears that are now blinding me. "Ana, are you all right? Tell me the truth. If this has become too much I can have Nurse Nora bring you some medication to calm you down. Ana . . ."

I had assumed that I was in a car accident or my clumsy ass had tripped and I'd hit my head on a coffee table. The picture that Dr. Berman is painting is far from either of those scenarios, and I can sense what she's going to tell me. These unbidden tears are choking me and my body is stiff from panic.

"Water," I manage to croak. "Water."

Christian is gently pouring small sips in my mouth before I realize it, and I snap out of my stupor. Tears are streaming from his eyes, and his face is a mixture of pain and rage. I hear both of my parents softly crying, and although I'm shocked that Ray Steele is in tears, I can't tear my eyes away from Christian's. I need so many answers, but I can't articulate the questions.

"Dr. Berman . . . I'm all right. Please, I need to know," I say this with my eyes locked on Christian's. They are to be my life line. I have made them my safety net and my comfort. I squeeze his hand, and he seems to recognize that I need this connection. I can remember how he caught me on the sidewalk in Portland, and he must know that I need him to catch me now.

Dr. Berman sighs. "The women, followed by Mr. Grey's employee, ran toward the sound of your voice, and located you in the employee break room. Your co-workers found you first. Ana?" She's rubbing my leg as she tells me this other worldly news. "Ana, they saw your boss strike you in the face. The blow knocked you backwards and your head hit a counter, rendering you unconscious. You then collapsed, and once again, soundly hit your head on the floor. *It's believed that your boss was attempting to sexually assault you. Your co-workers told the police that before they witnessed your boss strike you that your shirt was nearly been torn off." Dr. Berman abruptly stops when I gasp and clutch my chest, abandoning Christian's hand.

"Oh, God! Why? Why would someone . . . Was I . . . Oh, God, did he . . . No!" My loud and hoarse voice echoes inside my head and wakes up the headache I remember from days ago. Overwhelmed with panic, I struggle to push myself up in the bed, and I pull away from the arms that are grabbing at me from too many directions. I'm sucking in air at a rapid rate, but I'm breathless. My head hurts worse with every heavy thud my heart pounds into my chest. I can only think of a single question. A question that I'm screaming inside my head and throughout the room: Did he rape me?

I fight each set of arms through my exhaustion. I feel dirty. Desperate. Petrified.

The rushed, loud words around me don't make any sense. I just want to get up and hide. Can't I just get up, scrub myself clean and hide underneath the bed? Fear and filth won't be able to find me if I'm under my bed.*

Suddenly, I'm entrapped in strong arms and held against a hard body that is shuddering with sobs. My body responds, and slowly, I stop fighting and flailing around. The headache is disabling, my vision is clouded and blurry, but I begin to relax. I'm cognizant enough to realize I've been given something to knock me out. The strong arms only hold my tighter and rock me back and forth.

"Fuck, my helplessness . . . Loving you, but not being able to heal you," Christian whispers in my ear.

.


	6. Chapter 6

_The FSoG Trilogy and all characters therein belong to E. L. James. The story, while mine, isn't a dissertation for a doctoral degree, so expect mistakes._

Sorry for the wait between updates. In between life and the holiday, I got an idea for a one chapter tale that I had to write. You'll notice that I didn't do much editing to this chapter. Here's where Christian and Ana's story finally begins.

 _Chapter Six_

 _~Christian~_

My bathroom door is nearly shut, allowing a stream of light to barely illuminate my childhood bedroom. I'm sitting in a chair watching Anastasia sleep in the former bed where I spent my years of isolating loneliness. Inside my head, all is chaos. The rooms dim light shines on the darkest parts of myself. They are unfathomable. I sit and watch Ana's chest rise and fall with every breath she takes, and feel the dread and terror of what our future could hold. There's no doubt that I could lose everything.

Ana is knocked out and probably won't wake until tomorrow. For the past month, she has suffered from sporadic and debilitating headaches - headaches so severe that only strong narcotic pain pills can ease- and cause her to sleep for hours. I'm envious of Ana's deep slumber. If I could only rest my exhausted mind that continues to wage war within itself. A mind, exhausted from fighting the guilt of the deceit I'm perpetuating, while I continue pushing that deceit forward. It's a twisted and sickening contradiction.

It's the night of Thanksgiving, and Anastasia was discharged from the hospital two days ago; everyone, Berman and Marshall included, felt it best that Ana come to my parent's home where my mother can keep an eye on her. Anastasia's memory still hasn't returned, and I see that as a point in my gross advantage. Physically, she's made tremendous progress and is up and about on her own. It's the fucking headaches that continue to plague her. My stomach drops whenever someone suggests the headaches may spur her memory to return. God help me for feeling this way, not to mention my inexcusable behavior. Fuck inexcusable. It's downright evil, and what's worse is that it's becoming easier for me to justify. The majority of Ana's memory has been erased like chalk on a chalkboard, and has given me the opportunity to finally be that normal man that I've craved to be, although the opportunity comes with a heavy cost: Anastasia's memory retuning means that I'll surely lose her forever. She would never forgive me for what I'm doing.

We found out what limited memories Ana had retained the morning her parents and I were able to finally see her. Once Dr. Marshall told us that Ana's mind was skewed and hollow about the months of May and June - the months I spent recruiting her to be my sub and treated her so horribly – I knew what I could do; I could lie. I could lie about those early days, but was I willing to take the risk? The risk of her remembering the truth, and being repelled by me, shook me to the core. So, was lying to Ana a risk I wanted to take? I was terrified her confused mind would see how our relationship actually began, and Ana would regard me as the monster she initially saw me as. All I could imagine was her recalling those four weeks of the fear she told Flynn and me that she'd endured just to be with me. What if she remembered that fear, without recalling our reconciliation, and how happy we'd been since then? I just couldn't stand the thought, and within minutes, I decided to take that risk. I became determined to mislead her before I took my first step into her hospital room.

There must be a God, because every memory that Ana has of us is positive and happy. Why, and how we met. The Saturday that I stalked her at Clayton's. The photo shoot and how I took her to a coffee shop afterward. My gift of the Tess books, when I flew her to Escala in Charlie Tango. When I took her virginity, and sleeping in my bed that night. Our dinner date at The Heathman. But within those memories, the truth is scrambled. She's forgotten what happened after we left the coffee house, and she doesn't remember that the night I took her virginity was when I revealed who I really was to her. Ana has no recollection that our dinner date was to go over that fucking contract. The most blessed memory that she's lost is when I took a belt to her, and she ran as fast and as far as she could from me. If only I could forget that morning; she looked so full of despair and desperation that I could barely face her. Now, I realize that I couldn't look at her despair and desperation because of my own.

I think about the man I was for twenty-seven years and regard him as a caricature. A character in a comic book that a ten-year-old Mia could have drawn with colored pencils. He was also a lunatic. Out of control, full of grief and hate; I hated myself and everyone else. But that person began to float out of my life when Anastasia Steele fell into it. She grabbed my heart the second I caught my first glimpse of those majestic blue eyes. Her kind soul is why I now know what love is. We began as a complex, wounded pair who morphed into a single person on some spiritual journey. Those feelings – Anastasia's love for me – are why I'm desperate to be the normal man that she deserves. That's why I'm walking down a road that could lead me to straight to Hell.

On one level, I know that playing with Ana's mind is horrible. On another, I believe that I'm sparing her pain. I can wash away the four months she spent feeling lacking over my previous lifestyle. I want to erase her insecurities over all of the submissives I'd been with. I cringe when I remember how Ana would tell me that she felt she'd never be enough to keep me. I also have the ability to wipe away her knowledge and deplorable opinions of my past relationship with Elena, and how I had ignored the hurt I caused her by keeping Elena in my life. So, I admit that I'm doing this for selfish reasons, but it's also beneficial to Anastasia. She doesn't have to live with that pain again if she doesn't remember the truth. And I have done everything possible to keep her from recalling the truth. I'm so grateful that I cut personal and professional ties with Elena Lincoln while Ana was in a coma. At the time, I didn't know that was a Godsend, but now I see the advantage it has given me. While I'm sure that my mother has told Elena everything about Ana's condition, she hasn't attempted to contact me, and I haven't seen her in months.

Although I've been lucky enough that Elena is no longer a part of my life, unfortunately, she is aware of the entire ugly truth concerning my early relationship with Ana. That knowledge hangs over my head like a dark cloud that I try to ignore - yet it lingers. One word from Elena's vile mouth could easily ruin everything, especially if she were to feed Ana the truth, or by telling her what happened the afternoon that Ana returned from Georgia. The day I was so stupid and made the fucked decision to take her to Esclava, where she figured out who Elena was, and her ensuing verbal assault. Ana only thinks she heard Elena tell me that she deserved to be punished, and I boldly lied about it to her face in Flynn's office. I'm not sure if that offense is unforgivable, but I don't dare take the chance of Ana finding out. I'll choke Elena to death before I allow that to happen.

I love Ana so fucking much that I don't want her to hurt or ever feel insecure. I also want the chance to bury my own memories of being a cruel sadist and be the normal man that I've dreamt of being. I know these fucked thoughts are justifications of my behavior. Behavior, that I know is sick and so very wrong.

Once Ana was told that Jack Hyde hadn't sexually assaulted her, she initially insisted upon returning to her apartment when she was discharged from the hospital. She remained steadfast and stubborn in her decision, much to the displeasure of everyone she knows - including Kate. I had installed top of the line security on the apartment immediately after Hyde's attack since he remained at large. I didn't want to chance Kate's safety, but she moved in with Elliot, so it was irrelevant. It would probably be easier to infiltrate the White House than their apartment, but now that Ana has realized the danger and that she would be safer at my penthouse, that's no longer a concern. Now, the apartment is empty, save for all of the girl's earthly possessions.

I know that bringing her home with me is taking a risk, but with Hyde at large, I won't take the chance of allowing Anastasia to live anywhere else. The playroom was dismantled and turned into a storage room months ago, so I don't think that could trigger a memory; I'll be holding my breath it doesn't trigger one. I strongly believe the more warm and fuzzy scenarios I feed Ana will stick in her mind and close the door on the past. I want my Ana back. I want her to remember every wonderful moment we spent together after those nightmare five days apart. I hate that she can't recall a damn minute of four months of her life, and is no longer the strong and more independent woman she had become. I long for that Anastasia. The woman who would throw her head back, laughing until tears were a trail running down her flushed cheeks. Anastasia 2.0 is once again that shy, and ever so innocent college co-ed. While I do find that endearing, I miss the woman who threw wine glasses against my kitchen walls.

Ray spent the holiday with us, and is downstairs playing poker with my father and Elliot. Carla returned to Georgia yesterday, choosing to spend Thanksgiving with Bob. I can't deny that I'm relieved. Like Kate, she had been like a dog with a bone over Ana's misplaced journal. What would everyone think of me if they knew that I take out that leather bound journal and read it, taking in Ana's words, and using them as the proof that I need to protect her heart. What would everyone think if they knew after I'm done torturing myself, I lock it in the cabinet where I keep all of my information concerning my subs? I know everyone would see me as evil and refuse to understand that my intentions are good. Yes, I feel guilty and sickened when I think of any lasting damage my actions could cause Anastasia, but I also feel like the decision I've made is right, and ultimately beneficial for Ana. But a tiny voice in the back of my head keeps reminding me that it's more for my benefit. Maybe I am the monster Ana believed me to be in those early dark days. 1

Needing a reprieve from my thoughts, I drag my sorry ass from my chair and make my way towards Ana. Pushing hair out of her face, I bend down and kiss the tip of her nose. I leave the bathroom light on in case she wakes up disoriented. I don't want her to be frightened.

Luke Sawyer, who is now one of Ana's close protection officers, is standing beside the door. My family thinks I'm being over the top by having him watch over her in the house, but with the lunatic who nearly killed my girlfriend on the loose, I'm not taking any chances. I also assigned Belinda Prescott to her. Ana, who lacks the understanding of why I have security, along with just being Anastasia, put up one hell of an argument over it. Nodding to Sawyer, I reluctantly make my way back downstairs. I'm paranoid that my deceit is visible and that someone is going notice. Mom, Kate, and Mia are nowhere to be seen, so I make my way to where my father, Ray, and Elliot are still playing poker. I flop into a seat beside my brother, and bow out of joining the next game.

"How's my girl, Christian?" Ray asks, an unlit cigar in his mouth. The sight amuses me despite my mood.

"Sound asleep. Sawyer's by the door. He'll hear her if she wakes up."

"Good. I'm glad those pills work, but I worry that she's going to have to live with those damn headaches. Marshall couldn't even tell us if they'd eventually go away."

"I'm staying positive about them being temporary. She's still in the early stages of her recovery, after all. Mom keeps reminding me of that. I just hope it's true, and she's not saying it to make me feel better," I mutter.

"Son, do you want a drink? You look like you need one. I know these past months have been hell, but concentrate on the fact that Ana is healing, well enough to be out of the hospital, and upstairs in your old bed." Dad points a finger at me. "You also need to go back to work. It will do you good, Christian."

"I'm aware of that, Dad. But I'm going to stay home with Ana for a couple of weeks. I want to take care of her, plus, it will ease my mind. I'll pass on the drink. I'm tired, and will probably just go to bed. I don't know if I should sleep in the bed with Ana. I'm afraid I'll do something that will hurt her."

"Bro, you know those pills make her sleep all night. Your ugly ass in the bed won't bother her," Elliot jibes, laughing at the glare I give him.

"Fuck off, Elliot."

"Christian, you haven't mentioned that Hyde bastard in a while. I assume your guys haven't picked up his scent," Ray says, looking at me sharply.

"You're right . . . he's disappeared into thin air. The cops can't find out shit, and neither can my team. I still have the feeling we haven't seen the last of the fucker. He'd just better pray that I don't get my hands on him before the cops do."

"Just keep the media on the story and his face out there. If he's stupid enough to remain in the area, someone will catch sight of him," my father replies. "And when Hyde does crawl out of the hole he's been hiding in, we don't have to worry where Ana is concerned. Keeping her condition and whereabouts from the public was the best advice Katherine gave you. All the bastard knows is that he isn't wanted for murder."

"At least some of those poor women finally spoke up. If that media coverage didn't add fuel to the fire, I don't know what else could. Where did you send them to, anyway?"

I heave out a deep sigh. I fucking hate talking about this shit. "Here and there. Detective Clarke didn't like the idea that they were leaving Seattle, but were satisfied when I guaranteed they'd return when Hyde is found and their presence is required to testify against him."

"That was a kind and generous thing you did, young man. We're all proud of you, and I know Annie is. It goes to show what a good heart you have," says a very wrong Ray Steele.

If Anastasia's father knew how I'm mangling his daughter's mind, he'd cut my throat - not praise me for being kind or having a good heart – and Ana would be devastated. Shit, why did I think coming downstairs was a good idea?

Female voices emerge from the kitchen. The closer they get, I hear Kate and Mia bickering over the stores they intend to invade for Black Friday shopping. I hear them mentioning they are dragging Anastasia along. Yeah, right. Mia throws her arms around my neck, squeezing me tightly.

"For fucks sake, Mia, could you be any louder?" Elliot asks. His alcohol intake has induced a slip of his tongue in front of our mother, who glares at him, shaking her head.

"Ana isn't going shopping tomorrow. She's isn't physically able to withstand that, so don't even mention it to her," I say, my eyes on Kate.

Mia pulls away from me, frowning. "Well, do you expect us to lie to her when she asks where we're going? Ana's been fine . . . Well, not fine, but maybe she can hit a few stores with us. She needs some girl time, for goodness sake, Christian, and I can only imagine how bored she must be. Stop being such a downer."

"Mia, I'm with your brother on this one. Annie may be getting around and putting on a brave front, but the girl is as weak as a kitten, and imagine if she gets one of those headaches while she's out? You know they nearly take her down when they come on," replies Ray. "I'm sure Ana will be ready for shopping once it's closer to Christmas."

"You ever heard of shopping on the internet, Mia?" Elliot jumps back in, pulling Kate into his lap. Her lips are pursed, and she's darting her eyes between me and my sister. It looks like she's deciding whose side to take. She sighs.

"Ray's right, Mia. We don't need to push Ana into something she's not ready to do, and I'd freak if something happened to her. I wouldn't know what to do," she says. So, Kavanagh sides with me. Shocking.

"How is Ana, dear? Did the medicine help?" Mom asks, drowning out Mia's whining.

I nod, rubbing my hands down my face. "Yes. She's sleeping soundly. I was about to head up and go to sleep as well. It feels like the past few months have landed on me all at once, and I'm worried sick over these continued headaches. It's like there's no end to Ana's suffering."

"Don't feel that way, Christian, and don't be discouraged about Ana's progress, which has been remarkable. I know what she's dealing with now is hard to watch, it's hard for all of us to watch, but I'm optimistic that they'll eventually start to abate. Remember, her injury is still healing. It's only been two months. Ana's very lucky that headaches, no matter how awful they may be, are the only complications she has."

"Mom, I realize that, but it doesn't stop from worrying me. I don't want Ana to suffer, and it kills me to know that there's nothing I can do to help her."

"Son, just being by her side is all Ana needs. We're all here to support the both of you, darling. Have faith that she will fully heal, and be grateful that she's come so far in such little time," replies my mother, who is gently stroking the side of my face.

"I know, and I can't thank you enough—"

My phone, that I had tossed onto the table begins to vibrate. Looking at the display screen, I see Taylor's name flashing on it, and frown. Why is he calling? I'd given him the long Thanksgiving holiday off so that he could spend it with his daughter. I don't miss the fact that my father caught sight of who is calling me so late. I stand to leave the room for privacy.

"Excuse me. I've got to take this call," I hurriedly mutter, making my way to the foyer.

"Grey."

"Sir, there's a situation you need to be apprised of," Taylor begins. He sounds exasperated- in control, but exasperated. "I don't have all of the details yet, but expect to shortly."

"Go ahead."

He exhales deeply into the receiver. I can't discern if he's pissed off or concerned. "To begin with, I received a call from Guffin, he's in the security office at Escala. He told me the alarm at Miss Steele and Miss Kavanagh's apartment had gone off—"

"What the fuck? Does Guffin know why? Was the security system breeched?" I ask, louder than intended.

"Sir, the system was breeched. The CCTV went black from both the outside and inside monitors."

My heart begins to thump disjointedly. It only calms when I look at the staircase and I remember that Ana is safe upstairs in my childhood room.

"What the fucking hell, Taylor? Who the fuck is headed over there to find out what the hell happened? Jesus Christ!"

"Boss, Wilson and Lane should be there by now. I currently don't have all of the facts. After getting Sophie settled with my mother, I immediately got a call from a source at the police department giving me the heads up. He's aware of your connection to Miss Steele," Taylor calmly tells me. "He said that the PD, along with the fire department were already on scene. I told him that two of my guys were headed over to the apartment complex."

The fire department? "The fucking fire department?" I yell. "Why the fuck are they there? Son of a bitch!" I'm rapidly pacing, and vaguely hear footfalls behind me.

"Mr. Grey, Lane is calling me now. Let me put him on conference call."

"Lane, Mr. Grey is on the line with us. What the fuck is going on?" Taylor's tone is brusque and impatient.

"Mr. Grey . . . T, this is a clusterfuck. Neither the PD or the fire department are allowing anyone near the apartment complex. What little we've found out has come from residents," Lane rapidly spits out. I can hear sirens and loud voices behind him. "Wilson has greased the palms of a cop and some young fire fighter to get more info."

"What's going on, Lane? I'm on my way, but my ETA is another twenty. Mr. Grey doesn't have all fucking night, so start talking."

"Lane, what the fuck?" I grit through clenched teeth. Glancing to my left, I see Dad, Ray, and Elliot standing beside me, looking concerned.

"Sir, the police had already closed off the road in front of the complex. Wilson turned around and parked down the street, and we ran back up. That's when we saw the fires and the fire department, and were stopped by some asshole cop who wouldn't let us get any closer," Lane is speaking rapidly, and sounds out of breath. "Taylor, I suggest you don't bother coming over here. Now, the fucking arson investigators are here, and the place is on complete lockdown."

Wait. Fires? As in, plural?

"Whoa . . . What the hell?" Taylor barks.

I'm grinding my teeth with impatience, and slam my hand against the wall. I hear Mia yelp from behind me. I turn and frown. My entire damn family is listening to me. Shit.

"You're testing my patience, Lane," I roar.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Grey. We were pushed back to where most of the residents were, and overheard some of what they knew. It seems that in the back-parking lot, a fire had been started in a garbage dumpster. . . the one closest to the building. A resident arrived at the complex, saw the fires and called 911. Once—"

"Fires? There was more than one? Make some god damn sense, Lane!" Taylor screams through the phone, loud enough to even make me flinch. "Quit talking in circles and tell us what the in the fuck this has to do with Miss Steele and Miss Kavanagh's apartment!"

"Yeah, T. There was more than one. A car had been set on fire, too . . ."

My stomach drops. I know. I just fucking know.

"Lane, stop yanking your dick and tell me what the fuck is going on. I don't give a shit about the incidentals. Tell me what I need to know before I beat it out of you. Why did the alarms at Miss Steele and Miss Kavanagh's apartment go off? Why the fuck did our visuals inside and outside go black?" Taylor continues to scream, and it sounds like he just punched the dashboard.

Lane whistles between his teeth. "When we arrived, the second -floor apartment on the right side of the building was engulfed in flames. As we all know, that unit is Miss Steele's and Miss Kavanagh's. It's a total loss, as is the apartment directly behind it." He pauses, and I have to squat down, my elbows on my legs. I knew it was going to be bad. "The car that was set on fire in the back-parking lot, belongs to Miss Steele. It was never moved after she was assaulted. The fire department arrived in time to put it out before it blew, but the car is shit."

Except for the noise behind Lane, all is quiet on the phone line. I know Taylor is probably planning what to do next, but I'm only remembering the conversation I had with Ana when she insisted on going back to her apartment once she was discharged from the hospital. My gut twists as I imagine what could have happened.

"Lane, what are the cops and fire department saying?" Taylor asks impatiently.

"Wilson says the speculation is that the car and dumpster were set on fire as a distraction. At the moment, the apartment fire appears to have been set once everyone's attention was directed on what was going on at the back of the apartment complex."

"Do we have any concrete times on any of this shit? Jesus Christ, I can't believe this . . . what if the girls had been home?" Fuck, I shouldn't have said that.

"Bro, what the fuck is going on? Are you talking about Kate and Ana?" Elliot exclaims, pulling me around to face him. I shake my head at him.

"Sir, the only definite time we've got is when the apartments security alarm went off, and the cameras went black. No one down here at the scene is saying shit, and the residents are too shaken up to talk," Lane answers.

"Boss, I'll handle that pronto. My guy at the PD will have the dispatch times. I'm headed to Escala to begin sorting this shit out. I'll get Welch on it, too." Taylor says.

"Any injuries, Lane?" I ask, hoping to God an innocent citizen hasn't been harmed.

"Thankfully, no, Mr. Grey. Taylor, do you want us to stay here? We can gather whatever intel we can squeeze out of someone who likes to talk."

"Don't leave until I order you to, or the cops run you off. I want to know everything that's going on, and every word that's being drip fed between agencies," Taylor groans. "Are those fuck nuts aware the car and apartment belong to Miss Steele?"

Lane hesitates before answering. "Yes, and that bitch arson investigator Warren already has someone working on how to contact her," he replies.

I jump to my feet, anger surging through me. "Oh, she can fuck the fuck off! She's not coming anywhere near Anastasia! Fuck me. That will happen over my dead body." I scream into my phone.

"Lane, stay put, and away from any media that may show up. Call me if needed. Otherwise, we're out." Taylor hangs up on Lane. "Don't worry about Warren or anyone bothering Miss Steele, Mr. Grey. However, I do advise that you and Miss Steele remain where you are for the time being. Is Miss Kavanagh with your family?" Taylor asks in a more measured tone.

"Yes. I'll make sure she stays here. My father will make sure Warren doesn't try to bust in here with her bullshit," I mutter. "Taylor?"

"Sir?"

"As much as I don't want this to be true . . . I'm thinking this may be the handy work of a certain fire bug."

"One that burned his own car up, Mr. Grey? I hate to say that I agree with you. It certainly reeks of Hyde."

"We'll stay here. Keep me updated . . . I want to know the smallest detail, Taylor."

"Of course, Mr. Grey. I'll be in touch as soon as I speak with Guffin and my guy at the PD."

I end the call, and slowly turn to face my family. Their faces express a myriad of emotions, but the prominent one is dread. Oh, how I hate telling them this.

"What's happened, Christian?" my father asks, stepping closer to me.

Clearing my throat, I raise my arm and indicate that we should go back into the living room. I sit beside Katherine, an unexpected want to protect her overwhelms me.

"Taylor informed me of a . . ." I pull at the hair on the top of my head and look over at Kate. This really impacts her life more than any of ours . . . No, I can't deny the significance of this. I've no doubt this is about Anastasia. I swallow the lump in my throat, unable to voice the proper words.

"Bro?"

"Shit . . . I wish that I didn't have to tell you all this. Around an hour ago, the security alarm at Kate and Ana's apartment went off. The CCTV went black, so there wasn't a way to see if anyone entered the apartment—"

"God! Someone broke in? Did the police catch them?" Mia squeaks from the other side of the room. I throw her a withering look.

"No, Mia. Now, kindly let me finish. A source at the police department contacted Taylor and said that there was a fire at your apartment complex, Kate. There was a small one in the dumpster behind the building and . . . Anastasia's car was set on fire." I steel myself for the onslaught of questions that I answer the best way I can. The worst news has yet to be delivered. After I've sufficiently calmed my family and Ray, I shock Kate by taking her hand. Elliot's eyes convey understanding, and he begins to rub her back.

"Kate, I'm so sorry to tell you this . . ." I begin softly.

"Were they able to save anything in the apartment?" she asks, the strength in her voice shocking me.

Elliot bends forward and stares at her profile, but her eyes are locked on mine. "Babe, how—"

"Elliot, we all heard Christian's side of the conversation. Someone set mine and Ana's apartment on fire," Kate says, her voice becoming choked with tears. "Everything's gone isn't it, Christian?"

I feel like a complete bastard for not having caught Hyde yet, and I'm unable to even look at her. I clasp her hand tighter.

"Yes. The apartment was already engulfed when the fire department arrived. The apartment next to yours was destroyed as well. I'm so sorry."

Between Mom and Mia comforting a weeping Kate, a cursing Ray and Elliot, my dad pulls me out of the room and down the hall.

"No one was hurt?" he asks.

I shake my head.

"I don't need to remind you Hyde set his car on fire, do I? Perhaps when he's not assaulting women, he's an arsonist."

"Shit. It was the first thought that entered my mind, and Taylor agreed. Think of all the people he could have killed, Dad. We've got to find him." My voice is desperate. "This time, he could have successfully killed Ana."

Dad grimaces, his lips a thin white line. "Hyde must know that Ana's been released from the hospital. He's obviously been aware of her condition all of this time, Christian."

I turn in a circle, my hands clasping the back of my neck. I keep my eyes slammed shut so that I can keep myself from looking at the truth. Opening my eyes, I look at my father and exhale deeply.

"Hyde wanted to kill Ana, didn't he?" I ask hoarsely.

My father narrows his eyes and shakes his head.

"No. No, I don't believe he did," he answers.

"So, what the hell do you believe?"

Dad stares at me for a long moment before replying.

"I believe he was sending you a message."


	7. Chapter 7

_The FsoG trilogy and all characters therein belong to E. L. James. The story, while mine, isn't a dissertation for a doctoral degree, so expect mistakes._

 _Chapter Seven_

 _~Christian~_

It has been a week since someone burned down Ana and Kate's apartment, and we have remained at Bellevue. Ray went home to Montesano mid-week, which caused Anastasia to have a mini meltdown and cry inconsolably in my arms. That night was the first time we came close to being intimate, although we had to reluctantly control ourselves and stop. Since the accident, Ana wasn't receiving her birth control shot and I had no reason to have a condom on me. I was content to hold her until she fell asleep, and thrilled that she felt comfortable enough with me that she wanted to make love. Perhaps she feels this way because I tell her how sexually compatible we are, along with Kate, Elliot, and Mia constantly teasing her over the many times we've been caught in the act. Ana's mind-set is still so innocent that she has a hard time believing her sexuality had blossomed so much and she is now such a carnal woman. Every night, while holding her in my arms as we fall asleep, Ana tells me that I'm everything that is sweet and wonderful, and how much that I've brightened her boring world. She clueless to the fact that I'm nothing of the sort. Ana trusts me as implicitly as she did when we first met and before she knew the dark things I wanted from her.

The entire family has been tense since the fire and I haven't had the heart to lay more misconceptions in Anastasia's head. She's already afraid and paranoid that her former boss, a man she doesn't remember, assaulted her and might be an arsonist who tried to kill her. Unfortunately, no one caught sight of a suspicious person at the apartment complex that evening. Being in the dark and clueless is frustrating, and this event only adds more mystery to my life; we still don't know who sabotaged Charlie Tango.

Immediately after the fire, at my insistence – which puzzled my father, he managed to put off the SPD and SFD from questioning Anastasia and Kate. Both grudgingly agreed to hold off speaking to Ana due to her health but were persistent about interviewing Kate. After Dad said the girls would be more comfortable talking to both departments together, the police and arson investigator initially gave us a hard time before relenting. They demanded access to Ana and Kate by week's end; Dad says there isn't an excuse putting the interview off, and looks at me quizzically when I angrily disagree without reason.

However, a single and disturbing phone call demolished that temporary stay. Saul Avery, the lead investigator for the NTSB, who is leading the Charlie Tango investigation, contacted my camp and requested a meeting as soon as possible. He knocked everyone off their fucking feet when he revealed that the crash and the fire were directly related. I could no longer put off the goddamn interview. Detective Clark, who is heading the investigation of Hyde's assault on Ana will be there, along with an arson investigator. I only hope the head arson investigator won't be present, but the foreboding aura around me is telling me that my hope is a wasted one.

The meeting is scheduled for 5:45 at Grey House. I insisted on this time since I don't want any employees catching sight of our impending guests being led into one of the conference rooms. My conference rooms at Grey House are cavernous and impersonal. Much like Anastasia describes my penthouse. The dark wood tables comfortably sit twenty people. My chair, at the far end, is where I hold court and watch my employees often sit rigidly – gauging my mood for the meeting. I expect the full attention of my employees and demand intelligent, precise, and knowledgeable answers to any fastball questions that I throw at them. I treat unprepared, stuttering employees with caustic derision that has often left me feeling smug. Admittedly, I'm an asshole when I'm in CEO mode.

Today, that insufferable CEO won't be insolently holding court on his throne. Today, this particular cavernous conference room feels like a small cage packed with nine other people inside. I've found out that indeed, the head of arson investigations will be present, and the thought of it has me, Christian Grey, rattled and flinching from dread. This could be an epic disaster. I never imagined I'd have to be around this particular person again, much less have to answer to them due to their authoritative position. How ironic.

I'm sitting in my usual chair that faces the door, with Anastasia sitting closely to my right. Beside her is an unusually quiet Kate Kavanagh, who is gripping Elliot's hand. My father is to the left of me. He's present as support and because he's one of my trusted advisers – not in the capacity of advising Ana or Kate when it comes to answering any questions regarding the fire. But the main fucking question is why in the hell does this have to do with Charlie Tango?

Promptly at 5:45, Taylor enters the room, escorting Avery, Clark, and mother fucking Rachel Warren in. Welch trails them, shutting the door. We all stand for the formality of introductions and insincere pleasantries. When the time comes for me to shake Mrs. Warren's hand, I feel bile rising up into my throat, but blandly address her as I do Clark and Avery. I've spent most of the past hour dialing down my inner Dominant that sometimes raises his ugly head. I most definitely don't want Mrs. Warren to recognize his presence. Rachel Warren – or as I knew her, Rachel Lowe – was submissive number eleven, sandwiched between Abigail and Leila. Four years ago, we had a six-month contract that ended amicably. Since then, I've only seen or heard her name mentioned on blurbs on newscasts or caught her name in the Seattle Times. I only knew she had married because I saw her wedding announcement in the newspaper. I've never given the woman a second thought, and now she's sitting around my conference table about to question my sweet, unknowing girlfriend. I feel like breaking everything around me. My fucked up past strikes again.

Fortunately, Mrs. Warren is professional and doesn't bat an eyelash when we are "introduced." Of course, she has as much to lose if she's not the poster girl for discretion. She takes the lead and starts the meeting by addressing Ana and Kate. It looks like the fire will be discussed first, but my eyes, along with Welch's and my dad's are flitting toward Saul Avery of the NTSB. What the fuck is the connection?

"Miss Kavanagh, Miss Steele – I'm sorry we're meeting under such difficult circumstances. Miss Steele, I trust that you feel well enough for this interview today?" Warren asks, her words unvarnished and tone is kind. She has a pen in hand, ready to scrawl down whatever the girls may say.

I grab Ana's hand, kiss it, and rest it on the table. I don't know why I care, but I don't want this woman to have any doubt that Ana is my girlfriend and not a submissive. Anastasia lifts her blue eyes and they coalesce with mine. They are wide with uncertainty and a tinge of fear. I kiss her on the forehead, not sure why the question seems to have disturbed her.

"Yes... I feel fine. Thank you for asking," Ana replies softly.

Warren nods, smiling at her. Her attitude isn't of the bitch I've occasionally seen on the news. "I'm very glad to hear that. I've only got a few questions to ask you and Miss Kavanagh, and then I'll fill you in on what our investigation has found so far."

"You've uncovered who started the fire?" I blurt, doing my hardest to keep the Dom from emerging in the tone of my voice.

Warren looks at me. Her expression is devoid of any emotion. That's right. Act as this is the first time we've ever met, lady. "Mr. Grey, we'll get to the heart of the investigation shortly. Right now, I just need to clarify a few things with Miss Kavanagh and Miss Steele. I'd also like to ask Mr. Welch and Mr. Taylor some questions about the security system the apartment had. I've learned they installed them." Though strongly spoken, her words come slowly, as if she is choosing them carefully. "Again, I'd like to start with Miss Kavanagh and Miss Steele."

I say nothing and she looks at Ana and Kate.

"Miss Steele, I understand that you sustained memory loss from your attack in September. All I really need to know from you is whether you've been back to your apartment since being released from the hospital."

"No. I went straight to Christian's parents home. I've been staying there since then."

"And when were you released from the hospital?" Warren asks.

Anastasia looks at me again, probably unsure of the date. Why the fuck does that matter?

"A week..."

"Ana came to our home two days before Thanksgiving," Dad volunteers. Ana offers him a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Miss Steele. Now, Miss Kavanagh, you're currently living with Elliot Grey?" Warren addresses Kate, who sits up straighter in her chair.

"Yes. I've been living with Elliot since Ana's attack, but I've been staying with the Grey family since Thanksgiving."

"Did you ever go back to your apartment after Miss Steele's assault?"

"Many times. I'd go to pick up things I needed, such as clothes and the like. I also went and got the mail," Kate replies.

"Do you recall the last time that you were in the apartment?" asks Warren, who is scribbling away.

"I went the day before Ana got out of the hospital. I collected a bit of her clothing and other things I knew she might want. I also grabbed some pictures to see if they would help with her memory loss."

"On any of the occasions that you were inside your apartment – especially the last day – did you notice anything amiss? Was anything not where it should have been or was anything missing?"

Kate stares at Warren, pondering her question. Kate is squinting her eyes and shaking her head. "No," she starts. "Well, Ana's journal was gone. I'd gone to get it for her, but I couldn't find it. Like I said, I was gathering things that might help her remember the past four months."

Jesus Christ. Let's mention Ana's journal and bring that to her attention again. Fucking Kavanagh. Like an arson investigator gives a shit about something so irrelevant. How dense can Kate be?

Warren looks curiously at Ana. Get your eyes off my sweet girl before you contaminate her.

"A journal?" she queries.

The expression on Anastasia's face shows she thinks her missing journal is a non-issue as well.

"Like a diary. I've kept one all of my life. My mother and Kate couldn't find it at the apartment. I'm hoping it's at Christian's. I lost all of my others in the fire." Ana tells her.

"I'm sorry. I know how personal a diary is to people who keep one, and how they cherish being able to go back and read them," Warren replies.

For fucks sake! We're wasting time here talking about a cherished journal that I have in my office and have tortured myself reading. I want to start yelling and become the insolent asshole that I'm used to being in this room. Get to the goddamn point.

"One more question, Miss Kavanagh – please don't take offense to it because it's pertinent to a certain aspect of the investigation – what size of clothes do you wear?"

Kate's eyes widen and her cheeks redden. She looks affronted. I notice anger rising in her eyes as they stroll around the men surrounding the table. She's embarrassed. She shakes Elliot's hand off of her. "What the hell? What size bra do you wear, Mrs. Warren?" she spits loudly. "What kind of question is that? How does that fit into any of this? You've got a lot of gall!"

Warren nods as if she understands Kate's outrage. Her expression sympathetic. "I do apologize for upsetting you, Miss Kavanagh. I know that question is intrusive and private, but I assure you that I wouldn't dare ask if I didn't need to. I'm in no way making it a point to victimize you any further, much less embarrass you. I'm reluctantly inquiring because it truly is important," Warren replies.

Kate stares at Ana, running her fingers through her long strawberry blonde hair and huffs. Anastasia shrugs her shoulders at her friend and slightly moves her head in Warren's direction. Kate must take it as an instruction to calm down and answer the question. She rolls her eyes. "Six," she replies through gritted teeth. Elliot, who looks just as irritated as I feel, is rubbing Kate's back.

"Thank you, Miss Kavanagh. You just helped us tremendously." Warren lowers her head to write something down. Looking back up at Kate, she continues. "To your knowledge, was Miss Steele's car ever moved from her parking spot after she was assaulted in September?"

I can't take any more of this pointless bullshit. "What does that have to do with Miss Steele and Miss Kavanagh's apartment being set on fire?" I snap.

From the far end of the table, Detective Clark clears his throat, causing everyone in the room to look at him. He's tapping his pen on the small notebook he's been taking notes in. "Mrs. Warren, would you mind if I answer Mr. Grey's questions since it's not directly related to the fire?" he asks. She merely nods her assent and Clark continues. "As you're aware, the fire in Miss Steele's car did minimal damage, and we've come to believe it was a diversion for the suspect to distract attention while they set the apartment on fire. Once the car was in the forensics lab and methodically checked over – it was discovered that Miss Steele's car had also been tampered with. Specifically, her brake lines had been cut, and not recently." Clark looks me straight in the eye while he's speaking.

"What the fuck?" I growl, pulling my hand from Ana's. "Is that definitive? And how do you know they weren't cut recently?"

Anastasia has covered her mouth and Kate's grasping her arm. "Who is doing this to me?" Ana asks before bursting into tears.

"Christian, tend to Ana," Dad begins. "Clark, how do you know they weren't recently cut? What evidence points to that theory?"

"There wasn't a drop of brake fluid in the lines. However, there was a large pool of it underneath Miss Steele's car. Before you ask, the fire in Miss Steele's car was put out by a fire extinguisher, so there wasn't any fire-retardant used that would have covered the ground under the vehicle."

"Mother fucking shit! Taylor, when was the last time Miss Steele's car was driven?" I yell, holding Ana around the shoulders with one arm, and hitting the table with the other.

"Sir, to the best of my knowledge, it was before she had a close protection officer." he pauses, eying Ana. I know that he's thinking we can't ask her if she drove it, considering she can't remember. "Miss Kavanagh, do you recall the last time Miss Steele drove her car?"

Kate looks at Taylor like his question is utterly ridiculous. "Of course, I don't! I know that I haven't driven it for months," she replies. "This is so messed up. And how does all of this relate?"

It takes Katherine Kavanagh to ask the million dollar question. I say nothing, comforting Ana and shushing her crying. She's trembling, and the fact that she's having to endure this shit is pissing me the fuck off. She comes out of a coma only to find out she was nearly raped, and now she's hearing someone cut her brake lines, without a doubt, trying to kill her. Not to mention the goddamn fire.

"Katherine asks a valid question. My family has been through a lot these past few months and would most appreciate any answers that you have. And Mr. Avery, where do you fit into all of this?" Dad asks, irritation and a tad of anger in his tone. I must get my impatience from him.

"Mr. Grey, it's best if Mrs. Warren fills you in on the arson investigation, and then I'll address you," Avery speak up, his voice gravelly from too many cigarettes.

"Well, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that this fire is related to the sabotage of my son's helicopter, Mr. Avery."

"Excuse me, gentleman. Allow me to finish, please. Then you'll know what we've found. It will hurry this process up and make everyone happy. Shall we?" Warren opens her mouth and looks around the room impatiently.

Without looking at her, I dismissively wave one of my hands for her to continue.

"Mr. Welch, you're in charge of security of all GEH's properties, correct?' she asks.

"That's correct," Welch replies, his answer succinct.

"And Mr. Taylor, you're in charge of Mr. Grey's personal security and his security team? You oversee the day to day security measures of Mr. Grey?"

Taylor stares at her impassively. I vaguely remember that Taylor never seemed to like this woman when she was my sub.

"Mrs. Warren, I'm in charge of all of Mr. Grey's security. I'm also his personal close protection officer."

I've had enough of this mindless bullshit. I partially rise out of my seat, placing my hands on the table, and stare at her. Keep the Dom asleep, Grey.

"What in the fuck does this matter? My patience is dangling by a string that's about to snap. What do you know, and why is a member of the NTSB sitting in on this meeting?" I snap at Warren. She sighs deeply, meeting my glare head on, and ignores my question. Fucking cunt.

"Well, Mr. Taylor, who installed the security system that was in the apartment?" she asks. "Do you remember the time frame the security system was installed?"

"Members of my security team installed it. I don't recall the exact date. I believe it was several days after Miss Steele's attack. Mr. Grey wanted it installed for Miss Kavanagh's safety."

"Did you plan the design yourself?"

"No. My team assessed what was required. I approved their ideas and presented them to Mr. Welch. He designed the system. I received that design, gave the final okay and was in charge of the team that installed the system. Once it was all in place, Welch and I went over it and tested it out ourselves. Everything worked as it should have."

A small smile flits across Warren's lips, and she places her clasped hands on the table, glancing around at all of us. "Thank you, Mr. Taylor," she replies. "Now, my team has investigated this day and night, along with the SPD. We have concluded several things. . . I'll begin point by point so that the questions I've asked make sense. First of all, like Mr. Taylor's security team members uncovered - the theory that the fires started in the garbage dumpster and Miss Steele's car were a distraction to the perpetrator's main goal - which was to set the apartment on fire appear to be accurate. The fires in the dumpster and car were nothing that a fire extinguisher couldn't put out. The most disturbing thing about both fires is that they were started on women's clothing. Hence, the question I had for Miss Kavanagh concerning any items she may have noticed missing from the apartment, and what size clothing she wears," she states, raising tightly controlled and carefully blank stares at me and my family.

Immediately, I understand her uncomplicated insinuation. Elliot must understand, too. Kate and Ana are staring at each other perplexed.

"You believe the clothes were Kate or Ana's?" he asks her.

She nods. "We retrieved several pieces of clothing where the size tags weren't completely ruined. They are a size two. Through our investigation, we know that Miss Steele is a size two."

"Wait! How did you find out what size of clothes Ana wears?" Kate demands.

Fuck. My stomach tightens. This bitch went there.

Warren smiles indulgently at her. "Through the investigation, Miss Kavanagh."

"W-What kind of answer is that, Mrs. Warren?" Ana finally speaks up. "That's an invasion of my privacy, and I deserve an answer!" Her voice rising incredulously.

Rachel Warren looks at the girls warily. "Please, respect the position that I'm in ladies. I'm only doing my job, as are the investigators who work for me. Trust that for now, all information gathered is private. So, is the matter of what size pants you wear as important as what our investigation has uncovered?"

Warren's bitch attitude has made a grand entrance, and I'm within milliseconds from reaching across the table and choking the bitch. From the looks of Kate and Ana, I'd say that locking her ass in a room alone with them would be a far worse fate.

"Ana's question is valid, Mrs. Warren. The last time that I checked this meeting is informal. Ana deserves to know if you've been snooping through her closet, so to speak." My father says. He's grimacing. I've no doubt it's over Warren's disparaging remarks and bitchy attitude.

"All right, Miss Steele. We spoke to a Ms. Caroline Acton, from Neiman-Marcus. She's the woman who personally put together a wardrobe for you," Warren tells Ana in a manner respecting her memory loss. She also doesn't as much as glance my way.

My body is about to crack from fury. Of course, Rachel Warren would know how to find out the size clothes my sweet girl wears. I kept her dressed in the finest clothes from Neiman's, and she knows that I used Caroline Acton as a personal shopper. This bitch must have assumed Anastasia is my sub. Fucking hell. Meanwhile, Ana and Kate are still indignant and bristling in their respective seats. I take Ana's hand in mine and give it a gentle squeeze. She's staring at me with irritation and confusion in her eyes.

"Who is Caroline Acton, and why does she know anything about the clothes I wear, and what size I am? Christian, what is she talking about?" Ana asks me.

"Baby, I wanted to do something special for you before you began your new job. I thought that buying you some nice professional clothing would be a good idea," I reply.

Ana's forehead crinkles. "From Neiman-Marcus? That store is so-"

"Expensive?" Kate interjects sarcastically. "Come on, Ana. We're talking about the mogul, remember? Sweetie, he's kept your clothes closet stocked better than mine. I borrow your clothes."

Anastasia still looks confused, and Kate isn't given the chance to elaborate. Warren clears her throat to break up their conversation.

"May I continue?" she asks. "So.. . back to the clothes that the suspect started the smaller fires on. It's been determined they were stolen long before the fire. In fact, it's believed they were taken before Jack Hyde assaulted Miss Steele. We've reached that conclusion based on the fact the security system was installed immediately after the assault. This theory came about because there wasn't a single incident of the system being breached until the night of the fire."

"What? What in the fuck?" I exclaim, jumping to my feet and staring at Detective Clark. "Your team of bumbling idiots said there wasn't any indication that Ana's apartment had been broken into after Hyde nearly killed her!"

"Christian, sit down," Dad orders me.

"The fuck I will! Explain, Clark!"

Clark turns his chair so he's directly facing me.

"There wasn't any signs of a break-in, Grey. We couldn't ask Miss Steele due to her condition at the time, and Miss Kavanagh stated nothing was out of place in the apartment and also denied noting anything missing. My bumbling idiots didn't have a reason to believe there had been a break-in until now. Is that enough of an explanation?" he answers, his tone hostile and angry.

"Sit down Christian," my father tells me again. "Please continue, Mrs. Warren."

"Thank you, Mr. Grey. So . . . back to the early events on the evening of Thanksgiving. The time difference between the first 911 call and when Mr. Grey's security member lost visual contact via the CCTV inside was three minutes. We've found that the cables to the security system were cut, and that occurred at that three-minute mark. Seven minutes after the initial 911 call, there was a second 911 call from the apartment across the hall from Miss Kavanagh and Miss Steele's. The caller described smelling smoke, and then the fire alarms went off." Warren takes a long drink of water and runs her fingers through her short bob. She shuffles through some papers. "Obviously, all attention turned to the apartment complex. Although valiant attempts were made, the SFD was unable to save Miss Steele and Miss Kavanagh's apartment, along with the unit beside it. Thankfully, there were no major injuries. Once daylight, we were able to begin sifting through the rubble and brought in the dogs we use to sniff out fire accelerators."

"I mean no disrespect, but who cares how you investigated this? We want to know if you know who is responsible for the fire? Do you at least have a suspect?" Elliot asks.

Warren gives him a tight smile and ignores his question like she did mine. "We don't know how the perpetrator entered the apartment since all of the windows were blown out from the fire, and by the SFD gaining access to extinguish it. However, we do know the area of the fires origin was Miss Steele's bedroom. It also makes sense the perpetrator started the fire there since the fire escape is located underneath a window in the room. The accelerant used was gasoline."

"Christ," my dad mutters under his breath. Kate's gasp, Ana's tears, Elliot and I's expletives follow.

Rachel Warren doesn't skip a beat while we all take the information in. "Detective Clark, would you like to take over from here? I can follow up if required," she says.

Clark doesn't reply, instead, he opens a thick, brown file before him. "There weren't any fingerprints on Miss Steele's car, the garbage dumpster, or the sliced cables that operated the security system. Of course, the gasoline was the accelerant in both the car and dumpster – but only a small amount was used." He looks up from the file and watches all of us, a semi-bored look on his lined face. "Although, fortunately for us, something occurred before or after the perp set the fire. They were injured. Perhaps they did break the window and were cut, but that's irrelevant. What is relevant is that not only did we recover multiple fingerprints on the fire escape, we also found several blood drops on it. Obviously, our suspect had to have removed their glove while on the fire escape, but had their wits about them and didn't leave it on the scene."

"Have the prints hit a match in a database?" Welch speaks up.

A past conversation with Welch pops into my head and I look at Avery.

Mother fucking son of a bitch.

Clark taps his pen on his notebook again and a ghost of a smile appears on his face.

"Who is it?" I ask. My low voice echoes throughout the room.

He doesn't answer me. "Yeah, they've hit a match, Mr. Welch. The best news is that we've got a match on the blood as well," he replies. "Seems like the perpetrator likes to drive drunk. He rustles through more pieces of paper while everyone looks as though they're holding their breath. "On August 4th, 2011, our perpetrator was in Vancouver, Canada. They ran their car off the road where it met a tree. They were driving drunk, were injured badly enough that they required transport to a hospital. They refused to take a breathalyzer, so blood samples were drawn when they were treated in the emergency department. After treatment, they were arrested and taken to jail. We got a direct fingerprint match, and when we found out about the blood, we ran that as well. The blood types matched."

"And?" my dad asks, sounding irritated. He runs his hand through his hair and tosses his reading glasses on the table.

"Hang on, Mr. Grey. There's one more thing you need to hear. Mr. Avery?" Clark looks at the man. Avery just jumps right in – there's no bullshit run-around with him.

"Detective Clark contacted my office as soon as he got his fingerprint match from the arson scene. He wanted to cross reference the partial print the NTSB found on Mr. Grey's sabotaged helicopter. We ran it, and got a match as well," he tells us.

My family erupts, asking questions left and right. Shell-shocked, my eyes flit from Welch and Taylor. The same person that tried to kill me, set Ana and Kate's apartment on fire? What? Why?

They identified the suspect who sabotaged Charlie Tango as a...

"Avery, it's been determined that it was a woman who sabotaged Charlie Tango. Is that still the case?" Dad asks. I can feel him looking at me.

"It's still the case, Mr. Grey. We are certain who the print belongs to. No doubts."

"Well, what are you all waiting for? Who the fuck is it?" I shout, causing Ana to jump.

Clark gets out a stack of what appears to be several large, black and white photographs. He stands and passes one to all of us, Taylor and Welch included. I snatch a photograph from his hand, look at the picture, and nearly die of heart failure.

What in the fuck? What in the fuck?

I can't take my eyes off the picture in my hands, and I vaguely hear the fervid murmurings of those around me. I can barely make out Ana's soft voice asking me if I know who the woman is. Mother fucker. What am I going to tell her? Mother fucker. What am I going to tell my family?

"Do any of you recognize this woman?" I snap out of it, hearing Clark asking around the room.

A collection of no's go around the table, and I realize that I haven't answered. But how do I answer? When I answer Clark, he's going to ask how I know her, and then I'll have a lot of difficult explaining to do. Shit on explaining. More like difficult lying. I'd rather lie to Clark than have to squirm my way out of this with my family, not to mention how this may hurt Ana. Grey, just lie to the man.

But just as I'm about to shake my head and tell him I have no clue as to who she is, I remember who is sitting around the table with us. I fucking remember she's here, who she was to me, and what she knows. What and who she knows. I can't fucking lie to Clark or to anyone else because Rachel Warren will know. She already knows who the cunt in the picture is. Fucking hell. Has she told Clark or Avery the truth about me? Who this woman was to me? Has she decided to stick with the NDA she signed when she became my sub, or has she given her job precedence, and identified the bitch in the picture? Shit, is she waiting to see if I own up to knowing her? Warren can't honestly expect me to tell everyone in this room how I know this woman and what I was to them both. She knows that I kept my previous sexual lifestyle a secret from my family.

"Grey?" Clark repeats, more forcefully this time.

Fucking hell. Ana, I know you don't remember whether I've had past relationships, but if this hurts you, I'm so sorry.

Here goes everything.

I drop the picture on he table, and see every set of eyes in the room on me. I nod at him. No one makes a sound. From my peripheral vision, I see Rachel Warren. She's just watching with a blank expression.

"Yes, I know her, Clark."

"May I ask how you know her?" I can tell that he was clueless that I knew her. Thank you, God – or Rachel Warren.

"I was involved with her several years ago," I reply. Ana's hold on my hand loosens, and when I turn to look at her, Elliot and Kate are practically gaping at me. Ana's head is turned towards her best friend. Ana only remembers asking me if I was gay during the interview for the WSUV newspaper. My family thinks Ana was the first woman in my life; hell, even my family believed that I was gay. Fuck!

"Can you elaborate on that, Mr. Grey?" he asks. Like Clark, Warren and Avery are scribbling away.

"In what way, Detective Clark? What would you like to know?"

"You say you were involved with her. Classify what involved with her means to you."

Fucking bastard. Just keep the mask of indifference on, Grey, and don't let Warren know you're shitting yourself on the inside.

"We were in a relationship. We dated."

Warren keeps taking notes. Fuck, why am I surprised by her not having a reaction to my denial? She fucking knew I was going to have to out myself to my family. Hell, I could point my finger at her, and invite Clark and Avery to Escala to see some pictures of her in a most unflattering light. My smug attitude quickly abates when I hear Ana softly asking Kate and Elliot questions. My brother answers her with a soft, "I didn't know."

"When did you date? How long were you involved with her?"

"Over three years ago. I believe we saw each other for nine months or so."

"Why did the relationship end, Mr. Grey?" Clark hounds me.

"It ran its course. We weren't in the same place, and decided it were better if we parted." That much is true.

"Would you say it ended on friendly terms?"

"Yes. I thought our split was amicable. I certainly wouldn't have expected her to pop back into my life and try to murder me and my girlfriend," I reply, trying to concentrate on selling him these lies, while my mind is whirling around over the reactions of my family and sweet girl.

"Tell me how the two of you met."

Let's see. Elena Lincoln brought her to me so I could interview her to be my sub.

"We met at my establishment The Mile High Club. Detective Clark, why don't you just ask me everything at once, and we can move away from these one sentence questions. I met her at Mile High, and we dated for nine months. She was interested in a more serious relationship than I was, so we decided it was better to part. The split was mutual, no one left screaming or crying – much less threatening to murder the other years later."

Clark smirks at me. "Okay. Do you recall where she was from – employed – or the names of any friends she had at the time? What about family members? We can't find any known address and believe she may be staying with a friend in the area."

I sigh. For the first time in my memory, my brain is stuttering and my thoughts are reeling and jumbled. I cannot believe this shit. "She was an engineer at some company that I can't recall and was from Vancouver, Canada. As for friends and family, I don't remember," I reply.

Fukcing hell, if you want to know who her friends are, ask Mrs. Warren. She probably knows.

"She's never contacted you since you broke up?" he asks.

"No."

"We you aware if she had a substance abuse problem? Were there any indications of alcohol or drug abuse?"

I want to let go of Ana's now clammy hand and pull my hair out. "No, and no."

Warren abruptly interrupts Clark. "Well, whether or not Mr. Grey can shed light on any of this is irrelevant at this point. We may not have a motive, but we have evidence that indicates who is behind the sabotage of his helicopter – as well as being an arsonist. Each agency present puts precedence on locating the suspect. Along with that, Detective Clark, of course, is working tirelessly to locate Jack Hyde. I feel confident that we will make an arrest and justice will be served, but until then, safety-"

"Is paramount," my father says. "My son has top notch security. Measures will be implemented at once."

"Of course," Warren replies, looking towards Welch and Taylor. "The Seattle FD and police department will be releasing the photograph and name to the public. We want unbiased eyes on the ground in case they catch sight of her. Mr. Grey, I'd like for your family to keep a photograph of the suspect so they'll be familiar with her. I'd hate for her to approach them and catch them unaware. Do you find that agreeable?"

"Certainly," I answer, trying to keep the rage out of my voice.

"Mr. Avery, what about the NTSB? Do you have a plan on releasing any information leading to this woman's arrest?" Dad inquires.

Avery clears his throat and looks my father dead in the eye. "Yes, we do. Our plan is to keep her identity under wraps for the time being. Finding out this woman's vocation has us looking deeper into both of the helicopter's engines being tampered with. We prefer to handle this quietly. However, we will stay in constant contact with Clark and the Seattle police, and cooperate fully."

Dad nods and then gives me a look that I can't decipher.

"Are there any questions for us?" Warren asks, gathering her paperwork back into their respective folders.

"Not at the moment, Mrs. Warren. I'm sure we will, though. I trust each of you will be in constant contact with us or my son's security heads?" my father asks her.

"Absolutely, Mr. Grey. We'll all reconvene soon. Please contact any one of us if you think of a question that we haven't answered this evening."

Anastasia lets go of my hand and leans towards the table, looking around. Her eyes finally settle on Rachel Warren. She's holding up one of the photographs. "Considering that Christian knows who this woman is, but I'm clueless – would someone mind telling me her name and who she is? believe I damn well deserve to know since it appears that she wants me dead," Ana speaks up, her voice strong and demanding.

She's pissed. Fuck.

Rachel Warren smiles at Ana sympathetically. "Miss Steele, I can only provide you with the basic information that we've gathered. As you can see from the photograph, our suspect is a brown-eyed brunette. She's also twenty-eight years old. She's approximately five foot two. The hospital records show she weighs around 110 pounds. Her name is Leila Williams. I'm afraid only Mr. Grey can tell you who she is."

If the story looks like I wrote it in different fonts, trust that I didn't. I had to write it using Libre and it's been a colossal pain.


	8. Chapter 8

_Thank you if you were patient and waited for me to start writing the story again._

 _I don't have to tell you I only own this story and every mistake that you find._

 _Chapter Eight_

 _~Ana~_

"Kate cut her hair."

Two, not so finely manicured brows, furrow. Her brown eyes are studying me intently, questioning. Her expression is bland as she scrutinizes me. She gives nothing away. It irks me. She irks me. Everything in my life has begun to irk me. No, everything pisses me off.

Seemingly interminable moments go by before she finally responds. "Quite the deflection, Ana. I tell you that you're obviously suffering from depression, and you say something off the wall. What are you referring to?" Even her soft-spoken words irk me.

I stare at her blankly. My newly found annoyance of people in general, that's accompanied by a low simmering anger, is brewing. I contemplate on these so-called personality changes everyone around me keeps harping about, and they chafe my mood further. I'm sure my scowl is artic, and my silence feels like a void surrounding us.

Dr. Rose sighs and interrupts my thoughts. "Will you elaborate on how your best friend's hair has a place in our discussion?" It's not really a question.

Rose Powell is the psychiatrist who Dr. Berman recommended treat me after I left the hospital. The walls of her office are glowingly littered with degrees from every prestigious university known to man. She's a supposed expert in dealing with cases such as mine, and even Grace championed her. Turns out, Dr. Powell is married to Dr. Marshall, the neurosurgeon who saved my life. Dr. Powell is quite older than Marshall, but it explains why the Irish doctor now resides in Seattle. Powell's clothes look like those from the seventies, and for some reason I see her as a free loving hippie who would scoff at wealth and live in a commune. But considering her practice is inside her very large and beautifully restored home in Capitol Hill's aptly named neighborhood, "Millionaire's Row," my impression is far-fetched.

Dr. Powell is soft-spoken and her expression is usually one of kind anticipation. During our sessions, she sits on a well-worn loveseat, usually with her legs stretched out on it, while I ensconce myself in an old leather chair in the corner of a room, with a huge curtainless window behind me. Her office is light and airy, all scuffed hardwood floors with books piled upon them, and a large wooden cross hanging on the end of a large bookshelf. Thriving house plants are littered throughout the office, and there's a small Christmas tree covered in white lights atop her desk. Although I don't know why, she further annoyed me when she insisted that I call her Rose, instead of Dr. Powell. I decided on Dr. Rose. It seems fitting considering her obvious green thumb.

Our first two-hour session consisted of her prodding information out of me concerning my twenty-two years in the world. Our second was a waste of time as Dr. Rose probed me about the assault, which she knows that I don't remember. But Dr. Rose has jumped into the deep end today: she's throwing out medical diagnosis' and blabbering on about my ever-increasing anger and hostility. I refuse to acknowledge either.

"You wanted to know what pisses me off," I mutter matter-of-factly.

I frown when she raises an eyebrow. "That's an impressive attempt to circumvent our discussion, but we can play this your way, for now. I'm pleased that you finally want to discuss your pent-up anger. So, Kate's hair has caused these feelings, you say?"

I heave an annoyed blast of air and remain quiet. Dr. Rose isn't deterred by my silence.

"It was a simple question, Ana, and frankly, your response was categorically transparent," she persists.

I shrug. She isn't bating me with her reverse psychobabble. "You're only calling it transparent because you're going to say that I used Kate cutting her hair during the time I can't remember, as some symbol of my anger over missing out on so many important things," I reply sarcastically.

Dr. Rose pushes her metal framed glasses on top of her head, and regards me, still not giving anything away. "No. I wasn't going to give it any meaning. I asked you to name the things that have you so angry. You tell me it's your best friend's haircut. Don't you like the way Kate's hair looks? Is it possible you're actually pissed off at her for some reason?"

Her question summons my attention, and I involuntarily stiffen. I walked into her office with a desire to antagonize her, and now she seems to be antagonizing me. And why would I be angry with Kate? Other than Christian, she's been glued to me every step of these past shit months. Telling me stories, showing me pictures, playing videos of Christian and me. . . And ramming shit down my throat. . . Sticking whatever she can find before my eyes . . . Annoying . . . Well, I'll be damned.

I purse my lips and exhale through my teeth, glaring at her. "She's irritating me. Kate's way of helping is like a bulldozer knocking down a glass house. I know she's my number one cheerleader, but it's like her cheers are on repeat, and I can't stand to hear them anymore. I suppose that annoyed would be a better description than anger," I snap.

As usual, Dr. Rose ignores my tone. "Are you frustrated and annoyed with everyone who is trying to help you unlock your missing memories?"

"I'm exhausted from being badgered. I'm bombarded, on a daily basis, with information that I don't even ask for. Everyone means well, I know, but it's getting old. Sometimes it's enough to make me nearly scream. Christian is the only exception. He answers me when I ask him things directly; he doesn't shove crap down my throat." My words come to a standstill when I think about certain questions I have for Christian; his answers have me bewildered, and his family is still reeling from the secrets that he kept. "I can't say Christian has satisfied all of my questions, though."

Gazing at me shrewdly, she runs a hand through her gray bob and covers her legs with a worn, faded quilt. Again, something else that irks me. "I see. It's good that you're aware the actions of your friends and family are positive, even if they overwhelm you. And I do want to discuss the situation with Christian that you touched upon. But right now, the issue I want to focus on is your anger . . . and your uncharacteristic irritability. You've already been schooled that both could very well stem from the head injury itself." She pauses. "This anger, increasing hostility—"

Oh, rub salt in that wound, Dr. Rose. "You're right. I keep forgetting that I'm brain damaged," I practically hiss angrily at her.

Per her modus operandi, she remains unflappable by my inappropriate tone. "I didn't say that you are, Ana. No one has told you that you sustained brain damage from your head injury. Is that what you believe?"

I close my eyes and count to ten. One part of me realizes that I'm behaving like a petulant child, while the other doesn't care. "I don't have to be an expert on traumatic head injuries to know that if my skull fracture damaged one tiny brain cell - that it killed it. We both know that a dead brain cell doesn't rejuvenate, and changes your damn brain function. It either takes something away from your personality, or adds something to it. Both are permanent . . . and unwanted," I reply, my eyes remaining closed.

"True, but I stand by both of my statements: it could be from the head injury, and no one has diagnosed you as being brain damaged." She stops speaking, and I open my eyes to find her once again studying me impassively. "Push those thoughts from your mind, and tell me why you're so—"

That's it. I blink several times before my resolve snaps like a twig.

Pointing my finger at her, I lean forward in my seat and interrupt her. "OK, Dr. Rose," I say loudly. "Am I angry? Of course. Why? Let me count the many reasons for you, shall I? For starters, my skull is literally screwed shut. I can't remember four important months of my life. Four months, that I quote, unquote, lived some Cinderella romance, with a man that I only remember lusting after and giving my virginity to. Am I happy to know that this man is now madly in love with me? God, yes, I am! I love Christian so much - but I'm furious that I can't recall the journey we had." My heart beat lacks coherence, and again, I'm not sure why I'm getting immensely riled up. It's almost exhilarating.

"The incidentals of my rage, are being reminded of how well I was doing in my dream career - that's something else I would have loved to have experienced. Everyone that I know constantly asks - how I am, and how I feel - what can they do for me. I'm sick of it. Nope, you know what? I'm sick of them. I'm also sick of those hulking security people that Christian has following my every move. Their presence leads straight to the two giant elephants in the room. The fact that there isn't just one psycho on the loose that I lose sleep over - there are two! One, the boss I had while working said dream career, who is the reason I nearly died, and two, some deranged … ex-girlfriend of Christian's, who wants both of us dead!" I stop to suck in much needed oxygen.

Dr. Rose raises a hand to stop me. "Ana—"

I shake my head vehemently and continue, my voice now hoarse. "You want to know why I'm so damn angry, so I'm telling you why. How would you like to see stories about yourself on the news, or read about what happened to you in the newspapers? Yeah, I get that Christian and Mr. Kavanagh are only keeping the shit out in the public eye in the hope that someone catches sight of one of these two psychotic freaks, but it's still disturbing . . . I am scared! Then we have my coup de grace: I don't think Christian is being honest about this Williams woman . . . I vividly recall Kate's research about him before the famous interview. She couldn't find as much as a female animal in a picture with him - much less a woman. The explanation he gave me and his family about that woman, and other women he's dated - as he put it - just doesn't sit right with me. Or with Kate. A twenty-eight-year old man has an extensive list of relationships with women he kept secret from everyone, including his own family? Seriously? And for some reason—"

"Christian told all of you that he kept the women he was romantically - or sexually - involved with, as he described the relationships, a secret by having them sign non-disclosure agreements. He explained that he kept these women in the shadows, because they weren't important enough to bring home to his family, and that if he was seen in public with them, Christian knew his family would want to meet them. He says that all changed the minute that he met you . . . That he instantly knew you were different," she interrupts, completing my rant. "Maybe you're doubting Christian because this is information you can't recall. Or are you worried that Christian is an ex-philanderer, and not the man you've come to believe he is?"

I blink several times and tear my eyes off of her, glancing about the room. I inhale deeply to calm myself. Dr. Rose says nothing, and silence ensues. I don't believe I've ever felt so angry and I just can't pinpoint why. The very thought floods my body with frustration.

"You mean to tell me that you don't find that strange?" I retort. I ignore the ex-philanderer question.

She shrugs non-committedly. "It doesn't matter what I think, Ana. It only matters what you think."

I scowl at her. Typical shrink response.

"Ana, you didn't begin exhibiting this behavior until this Williams woman was identified as the suspect of sabotaging Christian's helicopter, and as being the arsonist. Is she the catalyst of all feelings? I'm in no way being condescending, but do your feelings simply boil down to you being jealous, after discovering about Christian's past? Or rather, re-discovering Christian's past."

"Who can say that I'm re-discovering anything about Christian's past?" I blurt out the thought that has kept my mind in over-drive. "Kate told me I never once filled her in about Christian's past love life. She told me that she would grill me about it, because he had never been photographed with a woman. I just can't figure out what to do with this information. It's rattled my mind . . . and my perception of who I thought Christian was – or the man that I'm getting to know."

"Is that a yes? It's simple jealously?" asks Dr. Rose, looking at me expectantly.

"No. I told you why I'm pissed off. Yes, the issue with Christian plays a part in everything, and it goes deeper than the other crap. For some reason, his past is more bothersome than the two psychotics on the loose."

"Again, do you think that there is a possibility that learning about this woman, and Christian's prior relationships did spark these uncharacteristic feelings and behavior?"

I pull my hands from where I'd had them tucked underneath my thighs and fold them in my lap. Looking down, I stare at the thin gold bracelet on my left wrist; it's the home of enter-twined, diamond initials - C and A. I twist my lips and contemplate Dr. Rose's question.

I admit I wasn't hostile and so easily agitated before that meeting at Grey House. But that meeting was so full of heavy and terrifying information . . . My anger had to have begun due to learning that someone attempted to murder Christian - tried to murder me. Both discoveries had to have brought about these infuriating feelings. And yes, I've quietly tried to figure out why an ex of Christian's would suddenly, and without reason, try to kill us. I come up empty handed and beyond confused every time I consider this.

Then there's the mystery of this Jack Hyde person who nearly killed me. Surely, adding that God-awful man to what I found out during that meeting, must have been what conjured up this rage. It has to be. Those reasons alone have unsettled me and bring me to tears daily. Finding out about this woman- these relationships- that I don't remember, can't be the match that lit this fire of anger, hostility, and . . . doubt. This radiating doubt I have concerning Christian's strange and secretive romantic – or sexual – life prior to meeting me. To be blunt, it doesn't make a shred of fucking sense.

I don't know if I find it hard to believe because I can't remember him explaining his past to me, or if it was the incredulous reaction his family had to finding out about it. Are Kate's constant questions about Christian stirring the pot and twisting my feelings? Am I staring at Christian puzzled by his explanation concerning these relationships, because I just can't force myself to fucking remember, or do I feel like he's outright lying about them? Who hides women you're dating from the press, so your family doesn't know about them? An even creepier version of Howard Hughes, perhaps? If his family asked to meet one of these women, and he didn't want them to, Christian could have said no. In the small amount of time I've had getting to know him again, I'm aware that saying no comes quite easily for Christian.

Elliot explained to Kate that his family hasn't questioned Christian's explanation any further because they've never interfered in his private life, and have always respected his loner behavior. He further told her not to press the issue, because despite how damn odd it is, his family quit questioning Christian about his life after he abruptly turned his self-destructive personality around, although he became completely closed off from his family afterward. According to his brother, the painful distance Christian placed between himself and his family, was enough of a hint to never insert themselves in parts of his life that he kept separate from them. Elliot says all of that changed once he met me. But neither Kate nor myself understand the dynamics of Elliot and Christian's family, or their logic. I'm not sure if I believe it, or just find it unbelievable. There is a difference.

"Ana, I'll be happy to sit here in silence for the remainder of this session, but I like you, and I don't want to waste your money on my fee," Dr. Rose interrupts my deep thoughts and drags me back into her office. She's wearing her glasses again and is giving me a searching once over.

I shift in my seat, trying to look relaxed and I nod. "I apologize for drifting away, as well as for my behavior, Dr. Rose. I'm not like this. I mean . . . this attitude I'm stuck in - these words - and the way I talk to others, isn't like me." I shake my head. "There are just so many things going on inside of my head, and the insanity circulating around my life . . . I feel out of control and frightened."

"You're an intelligent young woman. I don't need to tell you those feelings are natural. But you still haven't answered my question."

She's just not going to drop it. I'm telling Christian to demand a refund on the money he's wasted on her fee's. Her office, my amnesia, along with her placid attitude, make me grit my teeth together. Dr. Rosemary's baby has set me on fire.

"Yes!" I exclaim, tossing my arms in the air. "Yes, it's the Williams woman. Are you happy, now? Throw in Christian's strange dating past, and I'm all the more furious. I'm telling you that I have a gut instinct that something is off about that. I can't grasp the reason for such behavior, and he can tell me that I knew everything from the beginning of our relationship, but Kate says that I never told her anything about Christian's past. Hell, she's the one who wanted to ask him if he was gay, since that was the overwhelming belief here in Seattle. If Christian told me about these women, why didn't I tell my best friend about them? We tell one another everything, for God's sake!" I go on in a high pitched and forthright manner.

God almighty, how is this supposed to help me with my memory loss?

Dr. Rose frowns. "Perhaps Christian asked you not to discuss his past with Kate. Especially since he was aware of her budding journalism career, and didn't want her to be aware of the extreme efforts he'd taken to keep his private life private," she lobs back at me. "Have you asked Christian if he told you not to disclose his past to Kate?"

Hell. Furious Ana just disappeared. I inhale sharply through my nose and exhale the breath through my mouth. Her question has made me feel and look like a complete idiot. I shake my head slowly. "No," I mutter through my clenched teeth.

Again, the woman gives nothing away. No reaction whatsoever. I'm grateful this time, since I've made myself look supremely stupid. All my previous anger and annoyance is completely forgotten, which serves to irk me all over again.

"I see. Why not?"

My expression has to look vacant now. "It hasn't occurred to me."

She lifts a brow. "Has Christian made you feel like you can't speak freely with him? Does he strike you as the type of person who is secretive?" she prompts.

Those blurry memories I have of Christian mesh with the life we've had together since he walked into my hospital room months back. They're tangled, but I have to say - that no - he hasn't been secretive. Not when I haven't even inquired if he asked me to keep his private life from Kate, when we first began our relationship. And he told me that he never asked me to sign one of those non-disclosure agreements, so that wouldn't have been the reason I didn't tell Kate anything.

"No, he hasn't. It's like I told you earlier, Christian is always open whenever I ask him about our past. He tells me little details, ones that are special and private. He's told me about our relationship like a bedtime story." I pause. "Christian has recounted every moment about our life together . . . From me tripping into his office, until the night Hyde attacked me. He's been an open book."

Dr. Rose cocks her head to one side. "You haven't asked him because he's made you feel reticent to do so?"

I sigh, rubbing my hands on the thighs of my jeans. "Maybe," I whisper reluctantly, my voice anxious. "Christian can be intimidating without trying to be."

"I suggest asking the man. How else will you find out? You don't have any evidence that would lead you to believe Christian never confided in you; I think doubting him is unwarranted. Give him the benefit of the doubt before condemning him. And you can't allow Kate's opinion to further influence you," she softly tells me. "Speaking of, I want to discuss your best friend."

I eye her dubiously. "Why?"

"You've had a long-standing friendship with the woman, and you lived together for years. Kate's played a big role in your life, along with being a major influence on it. You just said you two don't keep secrets from one another, so that means she's privy to the early days of your romance with Christian. She's telling you that she believes Christian never told you about his past life, and it sounds like Kate may be a large part of the reason you're so upset over the matter."

I gape at her, smarting over her insinuation, but she doesn't allow me the time to respond. "Can you recall anything when it comes to Kate's thoughts on Christian and vice versa, from when you first became involved with Christian? Any memory of how they interacted with one another? And I'm not referring to the photo shoot or the night Kate met Elliot at the bar. Is there anything?"

Tears suddenly prick the back of my eyes because I can't remember anything. She knows this, so why is she asking? It's downright cruel. A faint sheen of sweat covers my forehead, and my hands have become clammy. All of my futile attempts to grasp onto the slightest memory always makes me sick to my stomach, and I begin to panic. I want to look unaffected, but I'm positive that I'm failing spectacularly. I shake my head dumbly.

"Calm yourself down, Ana. This isn't a new question, so don't turn it into a quagmire. Take in a few deep breaths and slowly exhale." Dr. Rose is frowning at me. "I can't have you hyperventilating on me, now can I?"

I do as I'm told and try to gather my scattered wits. I put my hands over my face and I rub my eyes with the palms of my hands. Mascara be damned.

"How do you feel?"

"Like crap. My mouth is dry, I'm sweating, and my heart is about to burst from my chest. I want to puke and pass out - in that order. It . . . feels like I'm going to die," I murmur, my voice is achingly sad. I'm so tired of dealing with these feelings.

"Drink that water beside you. I know you become uncomfortable when asked about events you cannot remember. You'll have to forgive me for this, Ana. I asked that question on purpose, because I wanted to uncover how uncomfortable you really get. I'm sorry that I had to get my answer at your expense." She does appear to be sincerely apologetic. "Whenever you try to remember anything, you begin to panic, don't you, Ana? What you are experiencing is a panic attack, and I suspect it isn't the first one you've had."

Trembling fingers twist off the top of the water bottle, and I take a few sips. The water is now warm and feels disgusting on my tongue. Once my fear of imminent death passes, and Dr. Rose is satisfied that I'm OK, I tell her to continue.

"I promise I won't question you along those lines again." She smiles. "Describe your relationship with Kate."

The corners of my lips weakly lift up. "You know we were roommates at WSUV, and quickly became best friends. More like sisters . . . I think we've always felt like sisters because neither one of us has one. Kate comes from an affluent upbringing, and is confident and outspoken. She always speaks her mind. I don't think I need to rehash my upbringing or childhood, but Kate has always been the leader in our relationship. I couldn't count the number of times she got us in trouble in college." I have to stop because I'm beginning to laugh at some of the stunts she nagged me into going along with. "I've always been the caretaker, I suppose. I've always done the cooking, chores . . . I guess that means I'm the wife in our relationship." I snigger at the thought.

"Since you're now living with Christian, and Kate is with his brother, what's your friendship like? I know she's doing everything she can think of to jog your memory, even though you'd like her to slow it down. Has Kate's actions changed your friendship?" she asks.

"Absolutely not! Like I said, we're sisters. There's nothing we wouldn't do for the other. She's a fantastic, caring, and loyal woman. I love Kate."

Dr. Rose is rubbing her chin and nodding. I still feel like getting up and walking out of her office. She just rubs me the wrong way. It doesn't matter what we're discussing. She's just too damn calm. Nobody can be this calm.

"What has Kate told you about your relationship with Christian? Has she ever offered her opinion on him or your relationship?"

I chew on my bottom lip. Dr. Rose probably won't approve of a few of Kate's blunt, and not so positive comments on Christian. For some reason, I feel embarrassed and apprehensive. I don't want my best friend to look like a trouble maker.

"Well, like I said earlier . . . she has tons of pictures of us . . . well, until our apartment was set on fire," I say, my tone angry. "Anyway, she's told me about our trips on Christian's boat, a family trip we all took to Grace and Carrick's home in Montana. Kate's practically thought of every way that could possibly cause a memory explosion."

Dr. Rose's head is cocked to one side. "And what has she told you of your relationship with Christian? How has she described his personality to you?"

"Kate told me that she was leery of Christian when he came into my life; she claims he put off a bad vibe, but could never pinpoint the reason. She says he was stuffy, yet cordial, whenever she was around. When she started dating his brother, he told her that Christian always acted like a man twice his age. Kate says the early weeks of our relationship were . . . upsetting. She went on to say I seemed to always be upset;

naturally she became upset, too." I quiet for a moment and softly sigh. "Kate said that on one particular night, she found me in the bed, hysterical, and soon after, Christian showed up and they fought. She tried to block him from entering our apartment. Not long after that incident, Kate and her family, along with Elliot, went to Barbados. She said when they returned sixteen days later, Christian and I were happy and madly in love, and I wasn't still hysterical and under any bedding." I pause to gauge her reaction. The reaction that doesn't exist.

Well . . . I asked her why I didn't live with Christian, because he says that he was always begging me to move in with him. She said it was because I wanted to live out on my own a while as an adult in the real world. But she says that I practically lived with him anyway, and she was always at Elliot's. Kate admits her relationship with Christian has always been contentious at best, although they grew closer while I was in the hospital. Everyone has said they've argued quite often, and it's always to do with me. It sounds like she's still trying to nag me into situations that he doesn't approve of; Kate doesn't believe I should have to listen to anything Christian says. She told me that we've argued over several situations, and Christian is always the reason. It seems that many of those arguments were due to that security guy that used to follow my every move, as she put it."

"Do you think Kate and Christian view you as a doll, and they both have a hold of one of your arms, and are pulling you apart? Perhaps, fighting for you and your attention?"

"God, no!" I snap, affronted. "I told you Kate's opinions are bigger than life, and from what I've come to learn about my boyfriend, so are his."

"Ah. Classic type A personalities who are both very protective of you, but in extremely different ways, eh?" she asks.

Confused, I shrug. How do I know the answer to that? She uses her hand to motion for me to continue.

"How has Kate described Christian? Jesus, let me count the ways . . . I've already said stuffy and cordial like an old man. She says that he's over the top possessive, and that he's extremely jealous . . . Kate said he's jealous of one of our male friends, and Christian can't stand him. She claims he's the most controlling person she's ever met, so far as to buy the company I worked for." I take a minute to think about how Christian described my apocalyptic reaction to finding out he bought SIP. "What other adjectives has Kate used? "Determined, assertive, but also aggressive. She says he's a genius, but that's obvious. Abrasive, curt, controlling, and domineering. Terse, and complicated at times. But she's also told me that as cantankerous Christian can be, we rarely quarrel. Kate says that from what she knows, we've only had two serious fights. Both that resulted in me refusing to speak or see him for several days. Evidently, both happened after dinners at Carrick and Grace's house. She said I wouldn't talk about what happened, but the last fight began during dinner, and that I started it, storming out of the house. Not only is that mortifying, it's so unlike me."

Dr. Rose has the kind anticipation expression on her face again. "Has Kate used any nice adjectives to describe Mr. Grey?" I hear the amusement in her tone, and I reluctantly smile at her. She skips over my disclosure of the two serious fights Christian and I had. But I suppose that's normal in every relationship and not worth delving into.

"Shockingly, yes. She says he's generous and philanthropic. He's openly affectionate with me; I already know that, though. He's loyal, and Kate says he can be quite the romantic, which I can attest to. He's obsessed with my safety, which, unfortunately, I've already figured out. She complains about his security, but then praises him for having them protect me. That's so Katherine." I smile thinking of my best friend. "She says Christian is adventuresome and brave . . . I don't know what else to say, Dr. Rose. Isn't that enough? Kate's painted me a picture of a complex man, that goes hand in hand with the one I'm getting to know. It's also on point with things that Christian's shared with me. You know – his past – the child abuse. His adoption."

"Yes, I knew he was adopted, but nothing about the circumstances. I'm certain that Christian is desperate for you to remember what the two of you had. I'm sure this situation isn't easy for him."

"No, it hasn't been at all, and that makes me feel guilty. But Christian has been seeing a therapist for a long time, and he's helping him work through this. Christian's problem seems to be that he can't stand the fact that he can't control this situation. I believe his shrink has been dealing with that issue for a long time," I reply. My tone hasn't sounded this normal since I walked into her office. She must be rubbing off on me.

"Let's talk about you and Christian. Have your troubles impacted your intimacy?"

I feel the heat start to rise from my shoulders. Surely, I must be scarlet. Dr. Rose needs to pick a line of questioning and stick to it. She goes from here to there and it's making me dizzy.

"No . . . not at all. But at times, when we have sex . . . Sometimes when we're . . . together . . . I feel like I'm on the outside looking in," I say bitterly, and then begin scraping clear nail polish off of my thumbnail.

"The sex is still satisfactory, though?"

God! Do we really have to discuss this in such detail? Is she going to make sure I went to see Dr. Greene last week, and got my Depo shot? Maybe the day my period stopped will be our next topic of discussion.

I cough and force myself to drink the stale, warm bottled water. It nearly chokes me. "It's more than satisfactory. It's hard for me to define it. Christian's told me – along with everyone else – how hypersexual we are, but I'm still in the mindset of the old Ana, so that surprises me. But the sexual tension between us is almost frightening, because it's so intense. I remember feeling that same way when I met him. I wasn't shy or afraid to resume having a sexual relationship with Christian. It feels right to be with him. Natural. I feel like I'm at home when I'm in his arms." That sounded so sappy that I'm nearly gagging. Thankfully, Dr. Rose doesn't laugh at me.

"Excellent. You both sound like you're deeply committed to one another, Ana. Never lose sight of that, or take it for granted. You have to work at staying in love with one another. If a relationship is going to thrive and last, the couple has to put in the work to make it last. There isn't a happily ever after if one partner gives up."

"I know. I'd never take Christian's love for granted. I don't take anything in life for granted anymore. But I do take my relationship with Christian into account, and wonder how I ended up with him. Why he chose me to settle down with . . . and to fall in love with."

She narrows her eyes. I can see she's curious. "Why do you entertain such thoughts?"

I scoff at her. "Good grief! Have you seen Christian Grey? He's a real-life Adonis, and don't forget a boy wonder multi-billionaire. I can't help but wonder what in the world he's doing with me. I'm Ana Steele, and I trip over imaginary rocks, and keep my nose in old, musty smelling novels. I only seemed to garner a fashion sense once we became a couple, and I remember the shit clothes I wore the day we met. How did I capture his eye, much less hold his attention, dressed that way? It flabbergasts me, every time that I look at him," I softy admit.

"I must say that you've completely surprised me. Why do you believe such things about yourself, Ana? They're so negative and opposite of everything that you are. I don't know what your clothes looked like the day you met Christian, but obviously, he didn't care about them as much as he did the woman wearing them. That man loves that your nose is stuck in old novels, Ana. You're beautiful and intelligent, and when I spoke with Christian, he said that he was so proud that he had met his intellectual match. He told me you're beautiful, brilliant and secretly ambitious. Those were his exact words. You don't have a reason to slam your looks or personality, much less compare them to Christian's. You need to have a serious discussion about this with him, Ana. This isn't a lack of self-confidence, it's self-loathing, and very unhealthy." She's considering me seriously, and I don't like it. I don't want to be under her microscope.

"I'm not ready to voice my thoughts about that particular subject."

"Perhaps it would be a good idea to discuss it when you ask Christian if he informed you of his past when the two of you became romantically involved."

Frowning, I check the time on the clock on the wall. Our session is nowhere near its end. "Perhaps." The word rolls off my tongue slowly.

Dr. Rose allows the following silence marinate in an understanding manner. She bears a dispassionate semblance, but I doubt she's pleased with my reply. I use the opportunity to stare out the large window and observe the colorless and cheerless Seattle sky; it's been a week of constant, dismal rain. Peering at it only makes me feel more restless and discontent.

"Ana?"

She startles me, causing me to jump. I rapidly swing my head toward her. Her bearing is so comfortable and relaxed. Mine must be the exact opposite, and I really feel like making a run for it. Her self-ease makes me unusually jealous.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention. Can you repeat what you said?" I ask, tired of her needling me. Tired of everything in general.

"I asked how the other aspects of your relationship are going? Are the two of you communicating well? For you, a relationship is a brand-new world, so how are you dealing with it? After all, it's comparable to being thrown into unchartered waters."

"We communicate. However, I do hold back a lot of things I want to say. I haven't voiced my opinion about certain things I don't like, but Christian's strong personality tends to intimidate me. He's very moody. He tends to sulk much like a child. I won't even get into his temper . . .with his employees that is. He's never treated me with disrespect, but I hear him yelling at his security a lot . . . and it's usually about me."

"I suppose a man of Christian's standing is used to having people do what he says whenever he tells them to. I recognize that strong personality that you're referring too. If Christian and his behavior are intimidating you to the point of not being yourself, I suggest the two of you seek someone to counsel you both. It's my opinion that you and Christian should be in counseling together, regardless. You are both experiencing this strange new way of life together, and you need to know how to best help him deal with his feelings, and he with yours," she replies.

I raise an eyebrow. "Maybe. Like I told you, Christian does see a psychiatrist, and that might leave him open to the idea of us talking to someone together. He still doesn't believe I should be here . . . That I shouldn't be in treatment for what happened to me. I thought he was going to strangle Dr. Berman when she kept stressing the importance of me seeing a psychiatrist."

It's her turn to raise an eyebrow as she quietly observes me. "I'm aware of his heated discussion with Dr. Berman, but you haven't mentioned he's still against you having any psychiatric treatment. Does Christian have a specific reason for his opinion?"

"He says there's no evidence that coming to see you will help me regain my memory. He said he discussed it with his psychiatrist, and he agreed with Christian."

Dr. Rose's eyes look troubled. "That's quite a controversial statement. Christian's personal psychiatrist shouldn't have an opinion on your treatment, or lack thereof. Have you ever met, or spoken about your trauma with his psychiatrist?" she asks me.

"Nope, I've never laid eyes on the man. You probably know of him. He's Dr. John Flynn. His office is downtown, close to Christian's apartment."

"I'm well acquainted with Dr. Flynn. He's an excellent doctor." Those bushy eyebrows furrow again. "I'm quite surprised he would offer an opinion on another's psychiatric care, especially if he hasn't treated or diagnosed them. Interesting, very interesting."

"Christian says that he personally believes a person's past can be a hindrance to them, and is sometimes better if it's left alone."

"Who said that? Dr. Flynn or Christian?"

Her stance has altered slightly, and she's repositioned herself on the loveseat, leaning toward me. Her modus operandi has changed, and it's alarming me for some reason. I feel anxious and uncomfortable again.

"Christian," I quickly reply. God, I don't want to tell her something that will make Christian look bad.

"He doesn't think that treatment could benefit you, and help you work through these problems you're dealing with? What's Christian's opinion when it comes to what you've been through?"

"We haven't discussed that aspect of my therapy."

"Ana, are you downplaying what's really going on with you?" she asks, frowning at me.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I parry back at her.

"Does Christian have any idea about your issues? That you're depressed, and are most certainly exhibiting symptoms of depression. That you're experiencing panic attacks, and are suffering with Parasomnia. Earlier, you told me that you can't sleep, and are experiencing nightmares. Parasomnia is the fancy word for those symptoms."

Jesus, what is she leading up to? My body has tightened with fear. Maybe she does believe I'm brain damaged. If she doesn't, she sure believes that I'm screwed up. Thanks boss that I can't remember. Where's irrationally pissed off Ana at now?

"I'm not depressed, Dr. Rose, and I'm not having panic attacks." I'm suddenly aware that I'm furiously rubbing my hands on my thighs again. Did I ever quit? I immediately stop and swallow hard. OK, I had expected my anger would disguise the anxiety I'm always feeling. Without being on the defense, I've lowered my protective shield.

She gives me a much-appreciated reassuring smile. "Calm down, Ana. Your ass is in that chair because you want treatment, and that's what I'm attempting to give you. But I beg to differ about your diagnosis'.

Your body language is screaming you're anxious. Or can you give me another reason that you look like a cat sitting on a hot tin roof?"

My throat painfully constricts.

She continues quickly and doesn't give me time to search for an answer. "When did the nightmares and insomnia begin? Were you still in the hospital?"

"No. They began after learning about the Williams woman," I whisper. I feel like someone has their hand on my heart, squeezing it so tightly that it's going to split open. I want to throw up.

"Why are you just now telling me about this?"

"I - I don't know. I was very angry at my previous sessions."

"You've been angry for the majority of this session," she challenges.

Shit. Hell. I'm back to scrubbing my thighs with my hands again. Where did this habit come from? Next

I'll be deemed OCD. I shake my head and don't reply.

"What are the nightmares about?"

I take a sharp breath. God, I deal with this every night; I don't want to think about this during the day as well. I think I hate this woman.

"The nightmares are always about faceless people chasing me . . . They catch me, and I try to fight them off of me. They are terrifying, and I always wake up crying – sometimes screaming. Christian is always there and holds me until I've calmed down. He's told me that he was plagued with nightmares his entire life, but no longer has them. He attributes me to driving them away. He claims I keep them at bay, which I actually believe is impossible, but that's what he says. But with me, I'm actually afraid to go to sleep, so I lay awake most of the night, trying not to wake Christian up," I confess. I feel embarrassed.

She's studying me once again. "Are the nightmares and insomnia every night?"

Tears flood my eyes. I nod.

"How much sleep do you think you're getting?

"Not a lot. Maybe three hours, but I do sleep a lot during the day."

"I suspect the fact that you're sleeping the day away is due to the depression," she insists.

"Pardon me, Dr. Rose. I am not depressed, and you're pissing me off every time you say that I am." I'm glaring at her, but she's unfazed. Let's get pissed off again, Ana.

"I'd be pissed if I was only sleeping three hours each night," she retorts, and once again ignores my comment. She reaches behind her and grabs a prescription pad off her desk. "You're a nervous wreck, aren't you, Ana? And I'm not talking about your insomnia and nightmares, which are actually night terrors. I won't ask why you haven't told me, because I see you're quite a stoic young woman, and would rather suffer in silence. But I can't do anything to help you if you aren't honest with me, and just choose to fall apart."

The tears have turned into full blown sobbing. Dr. Rose gestures to the box of Kleenex beside me. In the past two hours, my emotions have swept from one side of Seattle to the next. I swear I have whiplash.

"I'm a disaster, Dr. Rose. A walking, talking, disaster, and I can't tell anyone." My confession is garbled croaks, scared and tentative whispers.

Those un-manicured brows furrow over steel rimmed glasses. "Well, that's just bullshit. Ana, you'll tell me the truth if you want me to treat you. I'm serious. I will not be your psychiatrist if you aren't honest with me, and tell me what's going on. I can't help you unless you want me to. Are we clear?"

"Yeah, yes." I say in between hiccups. "You really think there's something wrong with me? I thought these sessions were strictly about getting my memory back." I am not thrilled with how this session turned on me. I wanted to leave this place indignant, not covered in snot.

"No, I don't think there's anything wrong with you, Ana. Your attack, whether you recall it happening or not, and its aftermath, has left you experiencing panic attacks. I've sat here and watched you have two, although they weren't full-blown. I'd dare to say that you have experienced full-blown attacks without anyone knowing." She pauses, raising a brow as she scrutinizes me. "The biggest issue that has to be addressed goes back to your anger, fluctuating moods, and why your thoughts are shaky and all over the place. Depression—" she's speaking emphatically, until I interrupt her.

"I am not depressed." I sniff unceremoniously.

Dr. Rose purses her lips and finally expresses an emotion. Wow. She's exasperated.

"Fine. Let me point it out to you. One, you lack interest in anything. Two, you close yourself up in the bedroom and aimlessly stare at a television. Three, often you don't bathe until mid-afternoon. Four, you're barely eating. Five, one moment you're crying and the next apologizing for bothering people by doing so. Six, you're having trouble making decisions, and seven, you can't concentrate whatsoever."

"Ana, we've spent six hours together in the past week, and I've picked up on everything your body language has exhibited, along with what you've told me, as well as your behavior. Your attitude has changed several times in this session alone. That doesn't mean you have a split personality, Ana." There's a long pregnant pause before she speaks again. "I know the different things we've discussed today have caused your moods to swing like a pendulum, but the outright fury you were feeling when you walked in my office isn't something I want to see again. You finally admitted what you're so angry about, but did so in a furious tirade. You angrily, but unknowingly, told me things that are clear symptoms of depression. Ana, you've got too much weighing you down, and you aren't going to get well by being stubborn and not allowing me to treat you. Your mind is currently jumping from A straight to Z, in the matter of seconds. That is not healthy. Can you see that? Do you agree with what I'm telling you?"

Sighing, I begrudgingly agree with her. I'm well and truly fucked up. Once again, thank you, Jack Hyde, wherever you are.

"You still haven't had a headache in over a month. Is that correct?" she asks, as she begins scrawling across a page from the pad.

"Yes."

"I'm relieved to hear that. OK, that means you'll only take the pain medicine when you need to. Hopefully, you won't need them again. I know you have no allergies, and are no longer on any other daily medication. Ana, I'm writing you a few prescriptions, and I expect you to take them as directed. One is an anti-depressant, but it will take a while for it to build up in your system, so don't expect immediate results. Hopefully, the one I'm giving you will help, but sometimes it takes a while to find the right medication." She winks at me before continuing, but I think it's to reassure me and smooth my ruffled feathers. "I'm also prescribing you a mild anti-anxiety medication and a very mild sleep aid. If you have adverse reactions to any one of the medications, stop taking them, and call me immediately. Take the anti-anxiety med the minute you feel yourself begin to panic, Ana. If you don't, it will be like closing the barn door after the horses have gotten out. Do you understand? Will you follow my instructions?"

"It doesn't sound like I have much of a choice, Dr. Rose," I huff at her.

"Sure, you do. It's just a matter of making the right one. Will it make your life easier if I write down my professional diagnosis' for Mr. Grey to read?" she jokes. I don't laugh. She isn't the one who lives with the man who is obsessed with my health and safety. Christian will probably stay up all night researching each of these medications on WebMD.

"Sure. But I've come to see that once Christian makes up his mind that he doesn't change it."

"He's very formidable when he wants to be, isn't he?"

"Quite."

Dr. Rose hands me the prescriptions and stares me in the eyes. OK, woman. I get what you're trying to convey. I'll take the shit.

"Well, Ana, our time is up. I'm sure you're relieved. We will reconvene the week after, since next week is Christmas. Don't forget to schedule your next appointment before you leave." She stands, but I remain in my seat.

Ugh. Should I? There is something that's been bothering me. Something I haven't mentioned to anyone, and I suppose she's the one who could possibly make sense of it. Plus, she can't tell anyone about it.

Oh, Ana. Just tell her

"Dr. Rose, can I tell you something that I've not mentioned before? I'm sure you have another appointment, so I'll keep this brief. But I need to know if what I've been experiencing could go along with my head injury. You know, like it could be a memory trying to break through. I just want to know if this is . . . normal."

"Absolutely, Ana. And I won't chastise you for not telling me about it. What's going on?"

I swallow and shake my head. It's so confusing. Dr. Rose is really going to think that I'm nuts. "Well, can a person start to regain a memory from just a feeling?" She has to think I'm crazier than she already does.

Dr. Rose sits back down and looks puzzled. She patiently waits for me to continue.

"I've started having these weird feelings, but I can't fully explain what it's like. I know it doesn't make sense. But it happens during the day, and I dream about it, too . . . and—"

"Elaborate, Ana," she breaks in.

"Well, actually, there's more to it than just a feeling. Whenever I get this feeling, or sensation – whatever it is – I also hear Christian's voice. He's saying . . . 'good girl' and it feels like he's . . . praising me for doing something."

"'Good girl?'" she asks. "Does he call you that? Is it a term of endearment?"

I shake my head. "No, that's why I thought it could be a memory returning. I've never heard him refer to me as a 'good girl.'"

"So, after this feeling falls upon you, you also hear Christian calling you a 'good girl', and you feel like he's praising you? Like he's telling you that you've done a good job, or pleased him in some way?"

"Exactly. Here's what I find strange, so strange it bothers me. I hear Christian, but his tone is different. It's indifferent and . . . harsh. I'd even say the tone of his voice is mean. It wakes me up whenever I dream about it and leaves me feeling ashamed. It's so disconcerting. I feel like I've done something that I'm ashamed of, and then Christian sounds like he's praising me for doing it. I know I'm making zero sense right now, but what could that mean?"

"Ana, amnesiacs can regain a memory in many forms. I've known of thousands of cases where a person begins to remember something by experiencing a feeling long before it's visual, and they fully recall it. A smell can unlock a memory, so can looking at a particular object. Truly, anything could trigger you to remember something, or everything. Have you brought this up to Christian?" She raises an eyebrow because she already knows the answer.

"No."

"Whenever you experience this, you feel like you've done something that Christian approves of, and then he praises you? Although, he doesn't sound kind, or like the Christian you know?"

"Yes. It . . . also frightens me, Dr. Rose. Not only the way he says it, but there is like an aura within the feeling. God, I know this sounds nuts! And this . . . aura is unsettling and unpleasant. I don't like it – the scary feeling, and the way Christian sounds. Is it just my skewed brain causing this, or could it be an actual memory?"

She looks thoughtful. "My answer isn't going to satisfy you, Ana. I can't tell you what this is. This could very well represent something significant, or might not mean anything at all. Are you ever frightened of Christian?"

"God, no!"

"From what little you can recall, were you ever frightened of him?"

"No."

"I wish that I had a concrete answer for this, Ana, but I don't. If this continues or progressively expands, I'll speak with Dr. Berman. She may want to do a brain scan. I believe you're due to have another one in February. We might need to do one sooner. We'll address this further at our next session, and don't hesitate to contact me if you need me, OK?" Again, she's really not asking a question. "You have three very important tasks to do before we meet again: talk to Christian about his past relationships, tell him about this disturbing feeling you're experiencing. Most importantly, fill those prescriptions, and begin taking the medication immediately. I will be able to tell if you haven't."

Nodding, and irritated about this entire session, and life in general, I stand to leave, just as her secretary buzzes to tell her that her next patient has arrived.

"Remember everything we've discussed today, Ana. Be mindful of your feelings, and act accordingly. Are we good?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Excellent. Have a Merry Christmas, Ana."

"Merry Christmas to you, Dr. Rose."

I put on my raincoat and head out the door, where I'm met by this fool Sawyer, and his cohort, Prescott. We leave Dr. Rose's home in silence, and the minute my feet make contact with the sidewalk, Prescott is basically pulling me to the parked SUV. Both of these pains in my ass are expressionless robots, and annoy me beyond measure.

"I need to go to the pharmacy," I tell the robots.

"Yes, ma'am," Prescott replies.

For God's sake, I'm twenty-two, and it's stupid for any of Christian's bozos to address me as 'ma'am.' I've told these two to call me by my name a million times, but this time I don't care enough to do so. They never listen to me anyway.

Brooding in the backseat, I watch the rain dancing on the window and try to clear my mind of the past two hours. I never would have thought talking could be so exhausting. But one thing stands out from my time with Dr. Rose, and now it's beginning to bother me more than it already was. To make things worse, I can't trust my own mind to tell me if it means anything.

I close my eyes and put my head on the headrest. Concentrate on that cryptic feeling, Ana. Figure out what the fuck it may or may not mean. Hell, who am I kidding? I can't force myself to remember shit; I have to stop this, and believe it's just a part of my new disturbing life.

Ana, stop being paranoid, lose these constant fears, and quit believing that everything is a precursor to danger. This stupid, nonsensical feeling isn't some forewarning, and I didn't wake up from a coma with a skill at premonition. A frisson of uneasiness doesn't mean this inexplicable feeling is an omen, or make Christian disquieting. It's simply my brain re-setting itself, settling me into my new world, and wracking my feelings. So, this feeling is eerie, but it isn't necessarily a memory.

It's just a random, irrelevant feeling.

A feeling that has me believing that I've done something that I'm ashamed of, and causes Christian's voice to sound so different. He sounds so distant and unkind. His words, seemingly praising me for whatever it is that I did, what I'm ashamed of.

Christian calling me a 'good girl.' Why would he call me that? He's never said that to me.

Good girl.

Good girl?

 _If you don't already know, I always wait for a couple of days to see if there are any reviews, and I'll address them as best I can. If you do leave a review and want to know my reply, I always respond in the reviews._

 _Again, thank you if you stuck around and were patient with me to continue the story. I honestly appreciate it._


	9. Chapter 9

The month long wait for the story being updated was brought to you by a computer crash. The chapter, which was nearly complete, was lost, so I had to re-write it. It doesn't address everything that Ana wants to know because it would have been information overload, and even I was getting lost in her questions and Christian's verbal tennis match. But Ana will continue to delve. I just hope the story uploads correctly and doesn't look like a mess once it's posted.

* * *

 _~Chapter Nine~_

 _Ana_

After watching Christian's bozo, Ryan, set two separate alarm systems and lock down the penthouse elevator to keep the bad guys out, and literally, locking us inside, I dash to the master bedroom and throw myself on the bed. I burrow underneath a thick duvet, hoping it will warm me. Turning the thermostat up hasn't really made a difference; it's just too cold outside. I thought damp and chilly Seattle was cold, but it feels like Fiji in comparison to New York City in December. No, now it's January - it will take me six months to remember that. Getting excited like a child when it started to snow wasn't an appropriate reaction. It's only served to make this city colder than a frozen block of ice. That's what I feel like – a frozen block of ice.

I decided to put off the interrogation of Christian Grey until after the holidays. I'm already center stage of everyone's concern, and I certainly didn't want to add drama or tension to the mix. I already feel like I'm a burden to everyone in my life. "Placating Ana" seems to be the new vocation of those in my life, which in turn, has me guilt ridden.

I'm slowly, but surely, learning that Christian's moods change in a nanosecond, and they give me whiplash whenever I watch them unfurl. None of his ire or frustration has ever been directed at me, it's always someone he's eviscerating over the phone or his countless suits that are tirelessly trying to find Hyde and Williams; I don't believe they ever sleep. I don't think he'd unleash anger on me like he does to everyone else, but I didn't want to be the reason some innocent employee got their ass handed to them at Christmas. Therefore, I've kept mum.

I've become close to Mrs. Jones, or Gail, as I call her, since I hardly leave the apartment. She's the only person that Christian always treats kindly, and I can see the hidden affection he has for her. Gail will only call me 'Ana' when Christian's not around, and I have to force her to allow me to help in the kitchen. I'm sure many of our harmless arguments must look hysterical; the best one had to have been me trying to yank a pan from her. Reason being: I got the pan.

With the bedroom door open, I can faintly hear Christian's voice, although I can't make out every word that he's saying. I've gathered he's talking to Mia about Grace's up-coming birthday party. Well, Mia refers to it at as a party, but an invite list of over two-hundred people isn't a party – it's an event. An event that I've been dreading since I first heard about it. A party that's going to be held in a huge heated tent, is over the top and doesn't seem like Grace's style at all. I understand celebrating Grace's sixtieth birthday, however, Mia's plans are outrageous – she's made it black-tie, for goodness sake. She claims that just family, Grace and Carrick's colleague's, and family friends are attending.

My dilemma is that it means that I'll have to wear one of those ridiculously expensive gowns in my closet with six-inch high heels. I've been assured that I've been to similar events and didn't reenact Bambi on ice. I'm blocking out the monumental task of matching the multitude of forks and glasses with the proper course. Christian, who isn't keen on attending either, told me to just follow his lead. However, I think I'll have Kate teach me the dining etiquette of the elite. There's no doubt that the night will have me looked upon as a circus monkey; I am, after all, the "brain damaged" girlfriend of Christian Grey. The woman who lived – not the boy who lived. Oh, young Harry Potter, I'd much rather read about you than attend this 'party.' Since this will be my post-coma debut, I imagine every guest will amble my way to have a word, and find out if I can speak without slurring, or have proper control of all my limbs and bodily functions. Thankfully, my muddled memory isn't public knowledge. I really, really don't want to attend this shindig, and if Ray had declined his invitation, I do believe that I would insist on not making an appearance.

A few minutes pass before I hear Christian end the call, and I immediately sense he's making his way to the bedroom. He strolls casually into the room, closing the door behind him. His intense, bright gray eyes regard me with humor, and his dark copper hair is unruly as ever. As usual, his proximity is heavenly. The closer he gets to the bed, that electric sensation I feel every time we're around one another, grows stronger. I'm drawn to him so deeply, and I don't want to try to understand why. It just feels too good. He's wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of Levi's, and is slowly making his way to me; he never takes his eyes off me. The broad, knowing grin on his face tells me he's aware of how he's making me feel. Why is arrogant Christian so damned sexy?

"You're wrapped up so tightly in those bed covers that you look like a sexy burrito, baby." I hear the amusement in his voice, as he looks down at me while sitting beside me on the bed. "Scoot over, woman, and let me under those covers," he softly orders.

I can't help but laugh at his words. He gracefully climbs under the covers, and I inhale deeply. Delicious. "A sexy burrito?" I parrot.

If Christian's scent was bottled for sale, I'd buy out every story that sold it. Out of habit, we wrap our legs together. I sigh, as he wraps me in his arms. Christian immediately begins to laugh as his hands roam my body. Lips pursed, I gently elbow him. I know why he's laughing.

"Ana, please explain why you're wearing that pink polka dot . . . thing. You know you don't have to dress up in sexy lingerie to turn me on," he asks, teasing me. I feel his smile on the back of my neck.

"Well, Mr. Grey, I happen to love my new grown-up onesie, plus it keeps me warm. You can laugh all you want; if I have jammies that encase my feet in flannel, I'm going to wear them - regardless of your opinion."

"Oh, your smart mouth, Miss Steele. Your new PJ's from Mia may be unsightly, but at least it has a zipper that runs down the length of your body. I have easy access to you, all thanks to my little sister."

"You're giving Mia credit to grope me? Christian, that sounds icky."

"'Icky?'" he asks, turning my body to face him. "I wouldn't have guessed that a literature major would utter the word 'icky.'" He's trying not to laugh, yet failing miserably. His eyes glow with some unnamed emotion.

I kiss the tip of his nose. "You're right; I studied the written word for four years, and shouldn't use such adjectives. From now on, I will be an erudite woman, speaking only sagacious words in an utmost facile manner," I reply, struggling to keep a serious expression.

Christian raises an eyebrow. "That's just showing off, Miss Steele. 'Erudite'? 'Sagacious'? 'Facile'? What in the hell do any of those words mean? Do you carry a thesaurus?"

"And here I was, thinking that the boy genius knew everything. I will never presume again."

"Presume'? Dummy it down for me, and just say "guess." And you're correct; I do know everything - except the definitions of words I've never heard spoken. I studied business and economics, not literature." His words reach my face and I breathe them in. Oh, I love him so. How in the hell could I forget a single moment with this man?

"OK, boy wonder, I'll stick to words; you can stick with boring numbers."

Christian grabs my hips, pulling me closer to him. "Deal. Explain why you're in the bed so early. You slept in late."

"Well, one reason is that I'm tired, and another is because I'm freezing. Your bed is warm and cozy, I just can't resist it. Why is this place so cold? It seems to me that a billionaire could keep his home a comfortable temperature." He's kissing my neck, and I shudder involuntarily. Oh, his lips on my skin always cause an ache in my stomach. A good ache, though.

"The penthouse is climate controlled, and you're the only person that's cold. You're just cold natured, Ana . . . Maybe you have ice water in your veins," he murmurs, nipping my jawline. "It's also cold as fuck outside; you're probably still freezing from when we went to dinner."

God, this man can distract me using his mouth alone. "I do not have ice water in my veins, thank you very much. You're right, a cold natured person can't endure body numbing temperatures. How do people live like this? I'll never complain about the weather in Seattle again."

"Of course, I'm right. I'm right about everything." Raising his head, he's grinning wickedly - arrogance personified. Beautiful, sexy, arrogance. And he loves me.

Playfully pushing him off of me, I shake my head. "Good grief, Christian. Haven't you ever heard of humility?" He knows I'm kidding, for he pulls me back to him.

"Now, that's a word I've heard before. But I want to know why we're in the bed talking when we could be enjoying ourselves . . . I can easily warm you up by unzipping your baby sleep apparel."

I'm not given the opportunity to laugh. Christian takes hold of my chin and kisses me hard, his tongue lighting me on fire. I fight off the reaction my body always has for him, and break the kiss.

"Can't we take a break from our enjoyable activities and talk? I'm a bit . . . sore," I murmur, suddenly feeling shy. I've also been searching for the courage and proper time to have a certain conversation, and I believe now is a perfect time. No, it's not the perfect time – it's the time I've finally found the nerve to bring up everything that's been eating me. Hell . . . Ana, Christian will not fly off the handle. He has yet to fly off the handle with me.

Nonetheless, Christian doesn't answer me, instead, his lips are against mine, murmuring that he loves me against them. He's digging his erection into my stomach; his tongue is coaxing my lips apart as he pulls me even closer to him. I don't believe a person has ever felt as close to another as I do right now. I moan softly, and his fingers find my hair. He tugs gently. My hands automatically fly to fist his hair, but reason finally snaps me out of the Christian Grey sex-trance I'm currently in. Either he's too good at seduction, or I'm pathetically weak when it comes to refusing him. I'm going with both. I pull away, and he whines like a child. Smiling, I shuffle my body away so that I can see his face.

"Christian, please," I murmur, and then take a steadying breath.

He's frowning at me. "Please, what?" He stretches out and rests his head on his elbow. His other hand is still roaming my body, he's like a teenage boy in the backseat of a car.

I swat him off of me. "I want to talk."

"Doesn't every woman want to talk? I have discussed this with Elliot – which was a mistake, by the way."

I don't laugh at his attempt to be funny; my expression is bland, and I raise my eyebrows.

He tucks my hair behind my ears and sighs. "What do you want to talk about, Anastasia?"

I twist my lips, still thinking of a way to slowly wade in the dark water. Jesus, for some reason, I'm beginning to feel guilty for doubting him. Christian is staring at me expectantly.

"Well, for one thing, I haven't properly thanked you for bringing me to New York for New Year's Eve. This trip has been amazing. You have been amazing."

He arches a brow, a smile twitching on his lips. "Anastasia, you've been thanking me the entire time that we've been here."

He's right, of course. That was a shallow attempt to distract him and his plundering hands.

"True, but I just want you to know how much I appreciate it." I look away as a sense of dread strikes me, and I begin to stroke his cheek. "I wish that we didn't have to leave in three days." And I don't. "I'm not relishing going back to Seattle - where Hyde and Williams are on the loose."

Christian's body stiffens. "You don't think I can keep you safe, do you? You want to stay here because you think that I can't protect you," he whispers, looking deep in my eyes. "Why didn't you say anything?" His words come out in a rush.

"Oh, I do! You misunderstood . . . That isn't what I meant, Christian. I mean that going back home will throw us back into reality. Being here . . . so far from Seattle, so far from the uncertainty and unknown . . . makes me feel better. I haven't been worried while we've been here," I whisper, looking at him warily.

He closes his eyes for a moment, shifting his body, and clasps one of my hands in both of his. "Baby, you have to know that I'll never let anyone hurt you again. Do you trust me when I promise that I'll keep you safe?" Christian looks anxious, our gaze still locked, but I can't pinpoint the emotion in his eyes.

Rolling on to my back, I look up at him. I don't want to be the reason that he looks so distressed, but honesty is paramount in my opinion, and I do trust him. I also want to be privy to everything happening around me. I don't want to be ignorant of our past – or his.

"Yes. Yes, of course, I trust you. Implicitly. But I still feel like someone is watching me and I'm paranoid. Probably ridiculously so. I'm just afraid." My voice is barely audible. I feel like a whining crybaby. A panicked, terrified, whining crybaby.

"Are you uncomfortable with Sawyer and Prescott? If you don't trust them to keep you safe, I will replace them immediately."

He's dead serious. Shit. He'd fire them in a blink of an eye. I raise up on my elbows and shake my head vehemently.

"No, no, Christian. They're both great. I don't think anyone could get near me with those two hovering around. Their constant presence does get on my nerves, and Prescott going into restrooms with me, bothers me, but I trust them. I'm just afraid of the unknown. Does that make any sense?" I ask.

Staring down at me, he nods. "Yeah, it does. I just wish that I could erase what happened to you. I love you, Anastasia, and I don't want you living in fear." He kisses my forehead.

"I know. I have faith that both of those nut jobs will be caught . . ." My words trail away with my thoughts.

Confessing my fears about returning to Seattle brings a long moment of silence; I know it's time. I open my mouth to speak but hesitate. Do I really want to do this? Yes, I do. I may end up finding something out that I don't want to know, but I cannot tamp my curiosity any further.

"Speaking of nut jobs . . . There are a few things I want to ask you . . . and keeping Leila Williams a secret is the first one." I stop, gauging his reaction. He doesn't have one. "Why did you keep those women a secret? I don't understand your explanation," I nervously murmur, but keep my eyes on Christian's nevertheless.

His forehead wrinkles and he looks at me as if he's transfixed by my face. "You don't understand?" Christian's voice is even.

"No."

"You actually mean that you don't believe me."

I blink up at him and swallow before answering. "I wouldn't exactly put it that way. Maybe it's best to say that I find it unbelievable. I thought that perhaps you didn't

disclose everything because you were being questioned by your family. I just wondered if I asked you while we were alone, you'd tell me . . . if you'd left anything out."

Christian traces my forehead with an index finger. I think he appears surprised, perhaps even irritated, but I'm not sure. "Ana, you've been wondering about this all of this time, and haven't asked me? We live together, for God's sake. Why haven't you brought this up before?"

"Because I've been turning it over in my head. I've been debating whether or not I—"

"Believe me," he interrupts quietly, his tone clipped and accusatory.

I nod, but my heart is thundering so loudly that I hear my blood pounding in my ears.

"I wish you would have brought this up sooner. I don't like that you've spent so much time doubting me," he begins, moving into a sitting position. I mimic him.

He's looking around the room, as though he's searching for a word he can't find. His mouth is a thin, white line. He turns his head to face me.

"Anastasia, I understand why this fucked up revelation has you confused, because it is fucking strange. I know that. I hate that. . . when we met, I wasn't the man I am now. As you know, before you, I isolated myself and was indifferent to everyone – my family included. I behaved in ways that I'm now deeply ashamed of. I kept secrets from my family and everyone else, because of the way I conducted my life; all of that shit is why even my family thought I was gay." Pausing, he exhales deeply.

"I lived a life that I didn't want anyone to know about, so I took strict measures to keep it secret. Does that appear strange to someone who hasn't behaved that way? Yes." He stops and waits for my reaction. I have none, so he presses me. "Does that answer your question?" He's raised an eyebrow.

The edge in his voice gets my attention, but that isn't enough to deter me. Everything surrounding this is a puzzle, and I want to piece it together. Maybe it's actually none of my business, but I'd like to know if Christian told me about this when we met. I can feel the tension in the room building. I'm beyond apprehensive, but carry on.

"No . . . it's not. Tell me—"

Christian does his trademark hand tugging of his hair. He cocks his head to one side, sighs, and shakes his head as he interrupts me.

"Ana, just tell me what you want to know. But you can't get angry if the minutiae pisses you off," he warns me. The implication of his words hangs between us, as I let them sink in.

Yep, I've angered him, but at least he isn't screaming at me. Nevertheless, his expression is the blank one I've seen before he goes nuclear on someone; it's the expression that leaves people wondering what he's about to do. Christian is still and guarded.

I swallow, trying to figure out what I want to say. "Why did you keep them a secret? What did you do that you're now ashamed of?" I murmur skittishly. Picking up a pillow, I place it in front of me. Some shield a pillow is, I scoff to myself.

Christian's eyes lock with mine. I don't think he's even blinked once. I stop breathing, waiting for a response, anxiety reaching to an unbearable height.

"I'm ashamed of the fact that I used women for my own sexual gratification. That was the only reason they were in my life. Yes, they were fully aware of what was expected of them. The women wanted the same kind of arrangement as I did. It was all about sex. The reason I had them sign non-disclosure agreements was so they couldn't run their mouths to the press about fucking Christian Grey. That's why I'm embarrassed and ashamed, Ana. I kept goddamned women on call for a fuck. No feelings were involved. I didn't want my family to know that I lived such a life," he says matter-of-factly, forehead crinkled, and frustration written all over his face. His candor is straightforward and callous. He stares at me, gray eyes raw, and I know he's waiting for my reaction.

I tear my eyes from his face, as I scour his body, trying to see this Christian, behaving like that Christian. That man isn't here. My stomach has been soured by images of him fucking dozens of nameless women, but I ignore it. After all, I'm the one who wanted to know. But there is still shock . . . I'm shocked. I can't imagine the man before me as the man he's just admitted to being – No, that is his past. My sour stomach is now churning bile that I have to swallow. Like he said – I asked and he answered. The room is quiet, so quiet that I can hear the soft whistle of the heat blowing from the vents scattered about the room. Tension is now thick waves between us. My mind is rapidly trying to collect my scattered thoughts. Christian's words are on replay, and unpleasant technicolor images are in my head. I also feel like he's disappointed me in some fashion.

"How many women were there?" I blurt out, my voice strained with apprehension.

Christian tenses and stares, seemingly impassive, into my eyes, but beneath his careful look, I see his unease. It's obvious from his expression that he doesn't want to answer that question. He moves the pillow and takes my hands.

He looks up at the ceiling. "I never would have dreamed we'd be having this discussion again . . ." His words trail away. Those gray eyes of his are dark and pupils dilated . . . From what? Fear? Anger?

He shifts us so I'm straddling him, leaning on his propped-up knees. He looks supremely irritated. I gaze down at our hands; they fit so well together. I close my eyes and realize that I've been holding my breath.

"You know that I'm not asking all of this to use against you, right? I'm not trying to find a reason to sabotage us, Christian. You do know that I would never hold your past against you, right?" I tentatively ask.

"I don't doubt you, Anastasia." He kisses the side of my head. "And don't assume that the scowl I know I've got on my face is directed at you. It's just that having to tell you about our life together again, brings back the disturbing memories of why you can't remember. It frustrates and pisses me off." Christians' voice is hoarse.

His face is scrutinizing me. "You really want to know how many women I had these arrangements with?" Christian's body language is tense and reluctant. "Are you sure?" he continues quickly when I make no response.

I turn his words over in my head. Not because he answered my question with a question, but because 'these arrangements with' statement causes my ears to perk up for some reason. I let it slide though, knowing it's not the silent elephant in the room at this moment; do I really want to hear this? This is me - Miss I've Only Had Sex With One Man, asking Mr. Sex on Legs how many women he's fucked.

"Yeah," I answer, my low voice echoes around the room.

He sighs and crosses his legs. "Fifteen."

Okay. Fifteen. Fifteen women. That isn't as bad as I imagined it would be, but it's also disconcerting. My Christian has had sex with fifteen women. Yay, that's just great.

I lick my dry lips and haven't let go of Christian's hand. I will not make him feel as if I'm judging his past. Everyone has a past – well, I don't - though most people don't have such an unusual one as my boyfriend. I wonder how I reacted the first time he disclosed this shit to me because right now, I'm reeling.

I clear my throat and stare anxiously at him. "You never developed feelings for any of them? Not a teeny, tiny bit?"

"Absolutely not," he responds matter-of-factly.

God, I wish I had something to drink. My mouth has no moisture in it at all. I feel the huge knot in my throat, it feels as if it's a knot full of sand.

"Did you tell me about this? Did you tell me about your past when we first met? Did I know?" I ask sourly.

Sitting up suddenly, he drags me with him. He lowers his eyes and begins to trace his thumb across my neck. It's distracting. Christian looks at me, gray eyes burning with something akin to shame. He nods, his expression wary.

Putting his fingers under my chin, he tilts my head back. "Anastasia, you found out everything about me on our first date," he murmurs. His eyes soften, but he appears contrite.

"Oh." It's all I have. All that I can muster. I'm momentarily confused, and I feel like I've lost track of what I want to know. Was I so taken by Christian that I easily ignored his colorful past? Did I push away my integrity for him? It had to have been love. This simple, and overwhelming love that I have for him.

"Yeah, oh."

My wits are scattered, and I can see my reflection in two expectant gray pools. I stare at him as words fail me. I struggle to collect my thoughts.

"OK . . . Well, it seems you sharing your life's secret with me, didn't deter me from starting a relationship with you."

Christian has a small smile on lips, but he doesn't look happy, his brows are creased and I watch him press his mouth into a hard line. "No, it didn't," he replies quietly.

Oh, I didn't think this would rattle me so. He looks like he's at bat waiting for me to throw the first pitch, and all I can think about is needing time to process all of this.

I blink rapidly, feeling nauseous over what I'm about to ask of him. Curiosity did kill the cat, Ana.

"How does Christian Grey find women who are only willing to be on call for a quick fuck? Where did you meet them? Who were they? Jesus, did you hire call girls?" I sputter.

He gazes at me intently, but then closes his eyes and shakes his head. In disbelief that I'd ask such a question? He opens his eyes again, and his expression if forlorn.

"Anastasia Steele, I'd give my fortune away not to talk about this again . . . Fuck! I'm not pissed with you, Ana, I just know how you felt the first time we had this discussion, and I'm sure you're going to feel the same fucking way now." Christian exhales a deep breath and his eyes widen. "They weren't call girls, they were just women," he murmurs, shrugging his shoulders. "I met them in different settings, different places. There isn't anything interesting about how I how met them."

I skeptically stare at him, gaping. He's so exasperating. That's not a fucking answer, Grey. I plead with myself over what I should do. Call him out on his evasiveness, or trudge forward. Shit, does it really matter how he met them? Maybe none of the shit that runs through my mind should matter. And maybe anti-depressants should kick in quicker than thirty days.

"How did I react when you told me the first time?" I ask after deciding it doesn't matter.

This is the question causes lightning to strike. It suddenly hits me that I'm an outsider to my past – I feel like I'm spying on this deeply personal conversation I've already had with Christian. I look up at his beautiful face, and for the first time, I wonder how he must feel dealing with this shit situation. Compassion for what he's going through expands my heart.

Christian regards me intently, and I watch as he brings my fingers to his lips, kissing their tips slowly. His gentleness plucks at the electric strings that pull us together. I could easily give in to my yearning, but I know there are answers I'm searching for, and only Christian can give them to me.

My mind drifts while lost in his gaze. In a short smattering of time, I've met all manner of confusing and deeply intense feelings for this man. I've come to know every inch of his face, the way his lips twitch in a smirk, and how his eyes sparkle when he laughs. I feel the warmth of those eyes when they're turned on me. I am still stunned by the realization that this brilliant and beautiful man is mine. I'm amazed that we both fell in an ocean of love for one another. What could I have done to catch the eye of Christian Grey?

There are days when I find the sensitivity in him that allows him to be capable of perceiving my every need, and taking care of me with soft tenderness. I've spent many nights just sitting with Christian, lost in silent moments, his arms folded tightly about me. I love being nestled in his arms, feeling the brush of his lips on my forehead, and on the tip of my nose. Oh, his nuzzling kisses against the back of my ear cause me to melt. Every time that he tells me he loves me, I ooze out of my clothing.

Then there is the extremely different side of the spectrum – my wary feelings that have left me with the thoughts of packing a suitcase and running away. They're strange and odd feelings that I can't comprehend, or understand. I don't even know what brings them about. The few times they've descended on me, I have to fight the impulse to run. To jump into the elevator at Escala, and run far and fast, away from not only Christian but from everything in my life.

Christian breaks my reverie and contemplation. His intense gaze darkens and he blinks, before answering the question that I'd forgotten I'd asked.

"You were quiet for a long while, shocked - and it took you a long time to wrap your head around it all – around me. You weren't expecting to discover the man I was back then and were ambivalent about starting a relationship with me. It went against everything you believed and wanted for yourself. It wasn't how you envisioned your first relationship to be. I understood that, but wanted you, just the same. I was selfish – I still am, Ana." His eyes widen and I think he looks panicked. "I was blown away every time you reminded me that I was deserving of love. I still am blown away when you tell me that I am. Being a better man wasn't anything I ever aspired to be until you came along. You took me as I was, Anastasia. You accepted me and all of my baggage. You're my miracle," he says quietly, his tone is emphatic.

Christian's expression is full of an unnamed emotion, and I gape at him, dumbfounded. My heart is swelling. Feeling a dam of tears ready to burst, I launch myself at him, and he catches me, slipping his arms around my body. My arms are trapped, palms landing in the center of his chest. His heart is beating wildly under my hands.

"Oh, Christian, how could you ever believe you didn't deserve love? Your existence alone is perfection," I whisper in his ear. "You know how much I love you, how much your family loves you. You're more than deserving of affection and unconditional love."

Tears begin to trickle down my cheeks, but slowly, before another word falls off of my tongue, it strikes me like a thunderbolt. I pull away from him; I keep my hands on his chest, and my mouth drops open. I look him in the eyes and frown, perplexed.

"Christian, you said I'm the only person who has been able to touch you. You claim – your family claims – that I helped you overcome your touch phobia."

He stiffens and blinks with uncertainty. Eyes wild and cautious, Christian takes too long to respond, so I pounce.

I slowly pull my hands off his chest and stare at them. Shuffling away from him, I start shaking the unpleasant thoughts from my mind. Surprise reflects in Christian's eyes, his expression guarded and unreadable. He doesn't understand my behavior, and I can't make sense of what occurred to me. My hands. His chest. I could touch him. No one else could. No one.

The penny must drop in Christian's mind, too. He swallows and goes to grasp my hands again, but I pull away from him, shuffling further back on the bed. He drops his hands on the bed, staring at me with wide eyes, waiting for me to speak. Waiting for me to say what I know he believes is running through my mind. He's staring at my hands, and his expression changes. Christian's expression says it all.

I inhale a gulp of air and blow it out through pursed lips. Heat is rising through this flannel piece of shit I'm wearing, and I'm nauseous from my suspicion. Christian's jaw is tense, I can see that his teeth are clenched. They damn well should be. The rhythm of my heart is skipping.

Once more, Christian reaches out for me, but I hold up both of my hands, palms out, and shake my head. Is there a word for a sucker-punch to the heart?

"Christian, if I did what you claim, help you overcome your fear of being touched, how did you have sex with those women? I might be a little naïve, but I know sex involves goddamned touching. You say no one could touch your chest or upper back, so how did you manage to fuck those women . . . any woman, in fact. Me . . . How did you fuck me, Christian, before I 'helped' you, that is?"

My eyes are screwed tightly shut, but I throw my arms out wide, and all but scream in a high-pitched voice. When I open my eyes, Christian has tilted his head to the side and is regarding me like a rabid wolf, one he's attempting his best to escape. He's trying to hide the glint of fear I can see in his eyes. But it's there . . . It's there.

"Answer me, Christian. Even your family says I'm the first person you've ever allowed to touch you, so I know what you've told me is the truth. Tell me, Christian! How? How'd you keep me, and those women from touching you, while you fucked us?" I bellow, and rise from the bed, clumsily.

Christian remains kneeling in the center of the bed, staring me dead in my eyes. His eyes have grown larger, and he appears completely desolate. He shuffles off the bed and makes a step toward me, but I take a step back. He stops, still not uttering a word. He looks angry; he looks like a man at war with himself. Christian's fists are clenched. Flexing one, he runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

"Please, Christian," I plead, my voice tremulous.

Tears are dripping off of my face because I know this cannot be good. Whatever it may be, it cannot be good. I'm now on the other spectrum of my feelings for this man, there is that faint whisper to run far and to run fast.

"By tying your wrists together," he says it so quickly, and so softly, that I nearly miss the words.

"W-What . . . did you say?" I breathe or at least try to, my hands dashing away tears.

Christian blanches, and steps toward me again. This time, I'm too shocked to move. Why in the hell would he tie my wrists together? Why would he tie anyone's wrists together?

"I tied your wrists together."

I try to dig my way through his luminous gray eyes and uncover what the fuck he's talking about. What in the fuck does he mean? Why in the fuck would I allow him to do to me? Why would he do that?

"You tied my wrists together while you fucked me?" I nearly choke on the words.

"Yes." A simple three lettered word. Yes.

I stumble forward, our toes are touching, and look up at him.

"Why?"


	10. Chapter 10

I only own the mistakes you'll find.

* * *

 _~Chapter Ten~_

 _Ana_

* * *

" _Why?"_

" _Because I couldn't trust anyone not to trust me, and some of them liked kink."_

" _Kink?"_

" _Yes, Anastasia, kink."_

" _They liked being tied up?"_

" _Yes."_

" _Did you tie me up when I gave you my virginity?"_

" _No."_

" _Have you ever tied me up?"_

" _Yes."_

" _In the beginning?"_

" _Yes."_

" _But not when you took my virginity? Why not then?_

" _Because you were unique. I already knew that you were unique."_

" _Unique? How was I unique?"_

" _For many reasons. You were the only woman I've ever had to pursue."_

" _I was the first woman not to throw themselves at Christian Grey?"_

" _Yes."_

" _And you found that 'unique'?"_

" _I found that . . . refreshing."_

" _Did you make me sign a non-disclosure agreement before we became involved?"_

" _No."_

" _Why? Because you found me 'refreshingly unique'?"_

" _I suppose you could say that. It just felt . . . different. I was in love with you, even if I didn't know it at the time."_

" _Well, you didn't know those women before you became involved with them. That doesn't make sense."_

" _It's the truth. And I know that you're reacquainting yourself with me, but I don't like having to repeat myself. Or to be doubted."_

" _That's your problem, Christian, not mine."_

" _Touché', Miss Steele."_

" _Kate says that I never talked about private things concerning us, that I wouldn't answer when she asked me things about you. That's strange, I've never kept anything from Kate. If I didn't sign one of your NDA's, did you ask me not to discuss out private life with her?"_

" _Yes, I did. I told you that I like my private life to remain private."_

" _OK, I can see it now. . . I didn't tell my best friend about my new-found sex life, so she became suspicious. That's why Kate always thought you were hiding something."_

" _I can only speculate about Kate's ambivalence toward me, but she didn't like me from the beginning. What else has the lovely Miss Kavanagh told you about me?"_

" _That we had a rocky beginning. That I cried a lot after I met you. She said that one night, I was very upset, and you showed up at our apartment, where the two of you argued about me._

" _True. . . Ana, neither of us had ever been in a relationship before. It was a frustrating and confusing time. . . We didn't understand what was happening to us. It's hard to navigate the unknown. Hence, you were distressed, and the over-protective Kate disliked me."_

" _How long did it take us to navigate the unknown? Kate said that when she returned from Barbados, we were fine; we were blissfully in love."_

" _Kate's right. I'd say it was a month before we realized what we were doing."_

" _So, you only had those unconventional relationships once you were in the public eye?"_

" _I've already told you, Anastasia, but yes."_

" _But you started GEH when you were twenty-one. How did you handle being intimate with women before then?"_

" _Ana . . . "_

" _How?"_

" _Does this really matter? How does this touch our relationship?"_

" _Because I want to know. Call me nosy."_

" _I handled it—"_

" _Tell me, Christian."_

" _I'm done discussing this bullshit. It's in the past. It's old news."_

" _Old News? Old news! It's not old news to me, Christian, I can't remember it!"_

" _Enough, Anastasia! Drop it, please!"_

" _No . . ._ Why _should I? What's the fucking big deal?"_

" _Language . . ."_

" _Fuck my language. Just how many women have you 'handled' being intimate with? Huh?"_

" _Jesus fucking Christ! How in the hell do I know? I didn't count them all. . ."_

" _What? Did I know all of this? Look at me. Look me in the eyes. Answer me. What's the big secret?"_

" _. . . I don't . . . Yes, you knew. OK? You knew everything, but I don't want to have this discussion right now."_

" _Oh, no! Don't you dare leave this room . . . "_

" _Fuck, Ana. Is it happening again? Breathe, Ana, breathe. Please, baby. Breathe . . . I'm sorry, baby . . . "N-No . . . I-I'm f-fine . . . "_

" _Fuck . . . Taylor!"_

* * *

There isn't enough concealer in all of Seattle to cover the dark circles under my eyes. This Barbie doll that Christian hired to give me a make-over can do her best, but I'll be shocked if I still don't look haggard and exhausted like I have for the past six days. Six shitty days that I've held my breath and have had to endure. My body is running on autopilot and I don't know where my mind is at; I think I left it in that emergency room in Manhattan – Christian and his overreactions. All I needed was one of those Ativan pills that Dr. Rose prescribed me, and I would have calmed down. Instead, I was hauled to the hospital, where Christian demanded that I have every stupid test known to man, and ended up being given the very medicine that I had at the penthouse. Looking back, I think Christian needed the Ativan more than I did. I haven't had another anxiety attack since then, thank God. In fact, I'm nowhere near feeling anxious. All of my emotions are negative; I'm borderline homicidal, full of anger, and am being swallowed alive by animosity; each emotion is directed at one Christian Grey.

I should have kept my appointment with Dr. Rose, but I canceled it because I physically feel off – I'm afraid that I'm coming down with something. Naturally, Christian called Grace to come and check me out, which was a complete waste of her time. Her diagnosis was that I was just tired; Christian's prescription for illness' and exhaustion is sticking plates of food under my nose, though the anti-depressant has messed up my appetite, and I just don't feel like eating. My boyfriend either doesn't believe that fact or doesn't care. When Christian pleaded with me over what I wanted to eat and I told him a Big Mac, he refused to take me to McDonald's. OK, billionaire, I get that you only eat at five-star restaurants, but can't you sometimes slum it like us regular folk and eat fast food? The answer was a resounding no; he won't eat at McDonald's, which means he doesn't want me to either. What person in their right mind doesn't like McDonald's? Obviously, Christian Grey, but this week has me doubting if he's ever had a right mind – or had the ability to stay in one mood for longer than five seconds. His moods have swung from left to right for the last six days, and I've long lost interest in watching which direction they go.

God, I'm so angry with him, but I'm not sure if I should be, and that makes me even angrier. He broke down and cried while I was in the ED in New York, but I still wanted to throttle him. I felt horrible when he told me how scared and helpless he feels over what I'm going through; I saw how deeply the aftermath of my trauma has affected him. Yeah, I knew that he was hurting over everything, but he kept his true feelings well hidden, and when he confessed how badly he was dealing with our new life, I was stunned. The entire night that I spent in the hospital, I reassured him that I was OK, that I am going to be fine - that we are going to be fine. But my mind is so cracked, my feelings so raw, that I'm beginning to doubt my own words.

Christian is afraid; I see it in his eyes. I don't possess super powers, but I see his fear, and I can feel it emanating off of him, but I've decided that dredging up the past – one that I must have been OK with, is a waste of my time. Everyone's time for that matter. But despite reassuring Christian that everything is going to work out, he's withdrawn from me - he's actually avoiding me – and I don't know what to do about it. And that's when my anger flares up. If he's throwing bacon and eggs at me because I've lost a pound or two, then why is he always locked up in his home office? He doesn't come home until long after I've gone to sleep, and leaves for work before I wake. He's Mr. I Have to See That You Eat Properly and Mr. I'm Going to Avoid You at All Costs. I just don't understand him, or his behavior, and not knowing how to deal with it has me feeling very, very bitter. Dr. Rose would have a field day if I told her all of this, but I don't need a psychiatrist to tell me that I'm using anger to cover up my feelings of confusion, and not knowing the best way to talk to Christian – to break through the barrier between us.

The past few days have been a bitch; I physically don't feel well and I'm on an emotional roller coaster. I've just decided to roll it all up into a ball of anger, and watch it roll down a steep embankment - eventually, it will hit something, and crack like my skull did.

Grace's birthday party is tonight, and I'm currently, and begrudgingly, sitting on a chair as Make-Up Barbie shellac's my face, and Hair-Barbie blows my hair out. I've never worn foundation in my life, but tonight is the exception, because of these dark circles under my eyes. I look ten years older than I am. Make-Up Barbie has done a great job of covering them up, though. I caught sight of myself in the mirror, and while it feels like I'm wearing a pound of goo on my face, it doesn't look like it. Hair-Barbie is straightening my hair, and since we've decided that I'm wearing a strapless silver gown, I'll wear my long hair down to modestly cover my back. I say 'we' because I told the Barbie's to choose what I should wear. They held up the gown, and I simply shrugged and agreed. The dove gray suede stilettos are going to be the death of me, no doubt, so I believe that I'll sit at the table all night. That's been my plan all along. I'm fully aware that countless guests are going to be searching for Christian Grey's post-coma girlfriend, so why should I circulate the crowd? It will be like voluntarily throwing myself into a shark tank.

Let the vultures come to me.

Hopefully, I can end this night early, especially since I'm going to feel like a sitting duck with Hyde or Williams lurking behind a bush. Christian keeps reassuring me that Taylor and his security goons will be crawling all over his parents' property and that I'll have 'close body protection' around me at all times, but I know that I'm still going to feel exposed and afraid. Thank God, Ray will be with me – he calms me. Being told to relax a hundred times a day has gotten old. It also doesn't help, because relaxing isn't possible for me. Months have passed since all of this shit began, and both lunatics still haven't been found. How can anyone expect me to relax? I don't understand how Christian is dealing with the search for Hyde and Williams, running GEH, and fretting over me every second of every day, without losing his mind. He's the king of multi-tasking and compartmentalizing different aspects around him. All the more reason Christian Grey confounds me. He's a dichotomy.

Two hours later, the woman staring back at me isn't Ana Steele. I've got to give it to the Barbie's – they know their shit. My face is flawless - no dark circles in sight. Instead, my blue eyes are wrapped in silver eyeshadow and matching eyeliner; they are shining. Make-Up Barbie kept my lipstick an understated nude color. Hair-Barbie gathered some strands of hair from both sides of my head, braided them, and left them to hang down with my now straightened hair. I have to admit that I love it. After finishing me off, both women hurry out of my dressing area, and Christian steps in. He looks beautiful. I don't mean handsome, hot, or gorgeous. I mean beautiful, the epitome of beauty – the definition of beautiful in the dictionary should be a picture of Christian Grey. His dark copper unruly hair is calling out for me to run my fingers through it, even if I want to yell at him. He's wearing a black dinner suit with a black bow tie, and he's staring at me, smiling. I haven't seen him genuinely smile in days.

Christian meets me in the middle of the room and hands me my silver wrap and clutch purse. The clutch is bare, save for a tube of lipstick, and I really don't see its purpose. Once again, I'm enraptured by his scent. My anger starts to ebb the longer we look at each other.

"No woman has ever been as beautiful as you are, right now," he whispers.

"Thank you." I smile in spite of myself. "You look very handsome yourself."

"Compliments will get you everywhere with me, Miss Steele. I'm happy you decided to wear the sapphire earrings. Not only do they look good with your gown, they also make your eyes glow."

"Again, thank you. I'm coming to believe that you enjoy spoiling me."

"You would be correct. I've made spoiling you my life's mission." Christian takes my hand. "Let's go find your father."

* * *

Our posse of Audi SUV's pull up at Grace and Carrick's home around eight -thirty. We're thirty minutes late, all due to Christian forcing Taylor to go over his security strategy for the umpteenth time. From what little I was able to discern, the perimeter of the entire property will be covered with security team members, along with two-dozen posing as guests. As we exit the vehicle, we are immediately surrounded by Taylor in the front, Sawyer, and Prescott on either side of me and Christian, with Ryan and some man named Reynolds behind Ray. If I wasn't so nervous, I'd be laughing at the sight of us – we must look ridiculous. I don't believe any world leader has this much 'close body protection.'" Dad told Christian he didn't need anyone to protect him and said that he'd punch anyone who tried to touch him, or me. Christian didn't heed my father's words; we're engulfed by men carrying firearms, although I'd bet money that Ray is a better shot than any of Taylor's guys, and perhaps, Taylor himself.

My assumption was correct – Mia has made her mother's birthday into an event - no, not an event. This is a gala. An extravaganza. A three-ring circus. A pergola, long, and blush in color, serves as the entry way to a massive heated tent, each of its four sides is covered with pale pink peonies. It's already littered with congregations of Seattle's elite. The shiny floor is the same blush color of the pergola, and I wonder if the hue is Grace's favorite color or Mia's. There are ice sculptures, a stage for a big band, a bar, and too many tables for me to count. Looking up, I see that the ceiling is covered in balloons – some that are blush, and the others are white. It's ostentatious and tasteful at the same time.

I'm grateful that Ray is with us, though he looks as overwhelmed as I feel. Christian keeps his hand gently placed on the small of my back, leading our way, and introduces my father to a few men who greet us. Christian is reserved and polite with them, and that's the telltale sign that he doesn't like them. I'm grateful that he hasn't introduced me to anyone, although they're pointedly staring at me. That's probably why Christian isn't introducing me. I'm surprised that either he or my father hasn't punched anyone yet.

I just want to leave already.

Scowling, Dad takes a glass of proffered champagne. Despite my mood, l can't help but laugh, because he only drinks beer – he refers to any other form of alcohol as 'the drink of a pussy'. I'm not allowed to mix anti-depressants with alcohol, so I politely decline the pushy servers. I note that Christian didn't take a glass either. He guides us to a large table deep in the center of the tent. It's where the entire Grey family, both sets of Christian's grandparents, along with me, Dad, Kate, and Ethan are sitting. Carrick looks annoyed, and when we reach the table, he raises an eyebrow at Christian; he must be pissed that we're late for Grace's party. Greetings and pleasantries are hurriedly exchanged, and I'm embraced, then passed along to the next pair of waiting arms. Grace looks beautiful as always. Tonight, she's wearing a dark red gown, her sandy-blonde hair is swept up in a chignon, that allows the long ruby earrings she's wearing to be on prominent display. I bet they're worth a fortune. Carrick and Grace are so down to earth that I forget how wealthy they are. The same goes for Elliot - he's always acting like a big kid, who is dressed in dirty, torn jeans and muddy boots. But there is a serious businessman under those muddy jeans, otherwise, he wouldn't own a multi-million-dollar construction company. I'm sitting in between Christian and Ray, and I notice that we're on the side of the table facing the guests and the two exits.

That has Taylor written all over it. Ryan and Reynolds disappear into the crowd, but Sawyer and Prescott sit at a table directly beside us. I don't know where Taylor is.

"Happy Birthday, Grace; you look lovely," I say, hugging her tightly. She smells of lavender.

She pulls back and looks me over, grinning broadly. I pray that I look as good as Grace does when I'm sixty. "Thank you, sweet girl. You are just gorgeous," she replies.

"Only because your son hired professionals to get me ready. They even chose this gown and jewelry that I'm wearing."

"Well, you don't need make-up or a fancy gown to look beautiful. You're a natural beauty."

Kate knows - but doesn't understand - that complements embarrass me, and that I not only feel like shit, I also don't want to be here. I assume that's why she rushes to my rescue, a gorgeous vision in green.

"Oh, Grace, you're right. Our Ana doesn't need to waste her money on make-up. I wish that I could say that. It takes thirty minutes for me to put my face on." she abruptly pulls me away.

I thank her with my eyes, and she flashes me a full-on Katherine Kavanagh smile. She knows me so well.

"Come on, Ana, let's sit." She leads me around the table and talks Ray into switching seats with her, so now he's seated beside Elliot. I'm glad she's beside me, even though Christian told me to follow his lead with the mass of silver and glass before us, but now that I'm between him and Kate, I'm almost sure it's guaranteed that I won't fuck this up.

"OK, Miss Kavanagh, you've got to help an old man out when it comes to eating with the right fork tonight. I only use one at home," Ray tells her.

"No worries, Ray. I've got your back. I think all of these utensils and glasses are silly. One fork and one glass are all I need, too," she whispers to Ray. I suspect that's because she doesn't want to offend the Grey and Trevelyan, families.

Seated safe and sound between Christian and Kate, I take in my lavish surroundings and the mass of impeccably dressed bodies. The setting down right intimidates me and reminds me of how I felt whenever I would attend events such as this with Kate and her family. Every table is drenched in pale, blush pink, and decorated as beautifully as the interior. The table's enormous centerpiece of flowers and lit candles keep Christian's parents and grandparents out of view, but I can still hear Grace's mother talking with Carrick's mother. I'm jealous that Christian has such a large family that gets along so well with one another. Growing up an only child, and one of divorce was a lonely existence. I won't dwell on my vagabond adolescence due to my mother. God, I love her, but I craved stability, not her flighty and nomadic life. Hence, the fact that I consider my step-father my only parent. Mom is more like my sister; a sister that I only see a few times a year. However, when the time comes for me to be a mother, I will definitely have more than one child.

I'm jolted from my thoughts by a voice addressing me. It's coming from behind the massive centerpiece. I believe it's Grace's mother.

"Ana, dear, how are you feeling? I heard you are having a rough week. Is my grandson not treating you well?" Yes, it is Mrs. Trevelyan, and her loud voice has just told the tables closest to us that I haven't been feeling well.

"Mother, Ana's fine. She's been tired from her and Christian's stay in New York," Grace tells her, thankfully, her voice is low.

"Christian and Ana went to New York?" her mother asks. Her voice is louder than before. I try to remember if it's her, or Carrick's mother who is hard of hearing. My money is now on Mrs. Trevelyan.

"Yes, mother, they went for New Years. Now let's look at the menu . . ." Thank goodness that Grace is distracting her. I don't feel like having my health, or any other aspect of my life loudly discussed around strangers. The idea annoys me, so I try to distract myself by taking in my surroundings again.

I feel queasy.

Christian has draped an arm around the back of my chair, rubbing circles on my back, while listening to Mia tell him the flavor of each layer of Grace's birthday cake; there are twelve damn layers. He's telling her she's crazy for having such a cake, and then gives her a lecture on how much of it will go un-eaten, and what a waste of food it will be. Then she goes on about him not being any fun. So, it begins. . .

"So, I see that Grey re-hired your old CPO," Kate has leaned close to whisper in my war. She drains her glass of champagne.

"What?" I softly mutter.

She raises an eyebrow, knowingly. "It figures the mogul wouldn't tell you. It's Parson; look to your right. He's four tables down - the hottie sitting on the far end. He has a great ass but was always a pain in ours. He's the one who—"

"He's the one who found me that night. No, Christian didn't tell me. I know that this place is crawling with security, but I don't know anything about that Parson guy being re-hired. He looks nice."

Kate grimaces. "Nice? Steele, you would look at him that way, but you flipped your shit when Christian said you had to have security with you all the time. I wonder why Grey re-hired him."

Thinking about needing any type of security is beginning to bother me, and I recognize the anxiety blooming in my gut. I feel a faint sheen of sweat forming on my back. Attempting to shed the feeling of impending doom isn't working.

"No clue. Maybe I should go over and thank him for saving my life."

"You're not going anywhere, Anastasia," Christian murmurs, glaring at Kate. "Now isn't the time or place to be discussing this, Kate."

She rolls her eyes at him. "Being an eavesdropper doesn't look good on you, Grey."

"Why did you re-hire him?" I inquire, genuinely interested. It's usually one strike and you're out when it comes to Christian.

"Not now, Ana." He's looking everywhere but at me, and I don't appreciate being blown off. This is just another damn reason I don't want to be here – another reason to be angry at Christian.

"Oh, it would be now, if I didn't mind embarrassing your family. This is one discussion we will finish," I say over the top of my glass of sparkling water. My face feels warm like I'm flushing, but there are too many reasons for me to guess why it's happening.

I should throw up in his lap.

He doesn't reply, and Kate, probably feeling the rising tension, opens her mouth and asks the question I'm fucking sick of hearing.

"Are you OK, Steele?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Tired, but otherwise, good." I don't want to talk about how I feel or how I'm fucking doing. "How many of those have you had?" I gesture at her empty champagne flute with my chin. Anything to draw attention away from me.

She tosses her hair back. "Just two, Mom. Speaking of mother's, did you see mine when you were making your way in?"

"No. Why?"

"She's been on my ass about living with Elliot," she whispers.

"I thought your parents loved him."

"Oh, they do, but they no longer approve of us living together . . . and they don't like the age difference."

"Nine years, right?" I ask. "Why is the age difference an issue now?"

Kate shrugs. "Well, on New Year's Eve, Elliot got smashed with Dad and Ethan. He started running off at the mouth about being ready for marriage and kids. Mother nearly had an aneurysm. So, all week, the only shit I've heard is that we need to slow things down. Slow things down? We've been together for eight months, basically living together for the entire time, and now she's on my ass about taking things slowly." She holds up her glass for a server to refill it. Jesus, she'll be drunk before the first course. "Don't you think that's stupid?"

"It doesn't make sense that they no longer approve of you living together, but I understand their concern about the two of you getting married and having children. God, Kate, you're only twenty-two, and your career is taking off. Do you honestly believe that you're ready to be a mother? Where's the Katherine Agnes Kavanagh who swore off marriage until she was thirty?"

"I left her in Harborview," she replies.

Turning in my seat to fully face her, I twist my mouth and lower the glass of champagne that she's bringing to her lips.

"What does that mean?"

As if I don't know what she's going to say. Irritation is brightly flaring.

"It means that you nearly dying on me has made me look at life differently. You only live once, and you don't know what could happen, or when. Life's too short, Ana. I don't want to squander a minute of time that I could be living with Elliot, and I don't want to die having regrets. Seriously, you should be thinking along the same lines. I'd marry Elliot in a heartbeat, and I might not feel ready for kids right now, but who is to say that I won't be in six months? Life's too precious . . . You taught me that lesson being in a coma, Steele."

"Well, I'm thrilled my traumatic head injury benefitted you somehow. You're blaming me for your new-found outlook on life?" I reply, my voice full of sarcasm.

Fuck, irritation. I'm getting pissed.

"No, I'm not . . . I'm giving you credit for it." Kate leans over, smiling, and downs the champagne.

Drunk Kate is rapidly approaching.

"Whatever," I reply sardonically. I'm trying to whisper so no one else hears our conversation. The voices and laughter around us is deafening. "You're cut off of the bubbly, Kate. I'm not in the mood to hold your hair back while you hurl on your high heels."

Does she think I'm supposed to be honored that my near-death experience has her wanting a rock on her finger and pushing out a baby? Because I'm not. I'm really, really not.

"What are you two ladies discussing?" Christian turns his attention back to us, looking at me intently.

"Getting married and having kids," Kate replies, then throws her head back, laughing.

"Who is getting married and having children?" he hesitantly asks. I watch as he pales.

His reaction makes Kate laugh louder. "Hell, Grey, you're as white as that little ghost, Casper, or whatever his name is. Chill out. I was just telling our Ana that her nearly dying on us changed my view on life."

I watch Christian visibly relax. We've never discussed children . . . well, in the 2.0 version of our relationship, anyway. Based on his reaction, he must not want any. I wonder if we ever discussed that subject; I definitely see children in my future.

Shaking my head, I know my mouth must be a thin white line. I love how our discussion at a birthday party is about me nearly dying. What a great conversation starter, Kate."

Now I want no part of her either. God, these two have me fuming. I feel sweat rolling down my back.

"Excuse me, but the person who nearly died on you is present, and she doesn't enjoy hearing that her ordeal was so beneficial for anyone, OK? In case you've forgotten, I nearly died . . . Not you, Kate . . . Not Christian . . . I'm the person who was nearly killed. Killed. Dead. Lights out, and Kate, I don't appreciate you saying that I 'nearly died' on anyone. You do know that everything isn't always about you, right?"

I blow out a deep breath, push my seat back, and stand.

My boyfriend and best friend look at me, startled. At the same time, they both touch one of my arms. I pull away and shrug off my wrap. I feel terribly hot and sick to my stomach. I've got to get the hell out of here.

"Anastasia? What are you doing?" asks Christian, quietly. He scowls at Kate.

"God, why does everyone keep asking me that?" I hiss under my breath. "I need to use the restroom. Is that all right with you? Is that fine with you, Kate?"

"Ana . . . "

I don't hear what else Kate says because I'm quickly stomping away from the table. I'm clueless as to where I'm going – I'm just going, weaving my way between tables. Well-dressed bodies are just a blur to me.

I sense Sawyer and Prescott by my side before I see them. Fuck.

Fuck.

"I can't even go to the bathroom alone?" I bite at Prescott. I don't even know where I'm going, I'm just rushing to find where we entered the tent.

"Mr. Grey prefers we accompany you, Miss Steele," she answers.

"Anastasia, where are going?" Christian's voice is in my ear.

He's caught up with me and takes me by the elbow. I'm angry, and by looking at him, so is he. I glare at him. His jaw tenses; I know my behavior isn't pleasing him.

"I need the powder room. That is what the elite call a bathroom, isn't it?" You, and the rest of the one-percent."

He furrows his brow at me, puzzled. He momentarily gazes at me like I'm a three-headed monster. Christian snaps out of it and looks around us. The party is at full speed, and no one seems to have noticed my attempted maniacal escape, or the staring contest Christian Grey is having with his girlfriend - in the middle of the three-ring circus that his sister planned.

He lowers his six-foot-two frame to look directly in my eyes. Even in stilettos, I don't reach Christian's shoulder.

"You can use the one in the house. Come," he tells me, taking my hand and leading me to an exit at the opposite end of the tent. As we walk, countless men stop us, shaking Christian's hand, and trying to engage him in conversation. He is curt and succinct with his replies, but none of the men seem to be surprised. They must be familiar with the asshole CEO side of him. But I want none of these pointless exchanges. I try to retrieve my hand from Christian's hold, but he only tightens it. I stare up at him, blankly.

Inwardly, I'm concurrently fuming and feeling like passing out.

He leads us out of the tent, and the cool air hits my face. We're on the lawn, close to a set of French doors. It's chilly, and Christian quickens his steps so we can escape the drizzling rain. Suddenly, I realize that Taylor and Reynolds are at our sides – followed by Sawyer and Prescott.

The French doors open up to reveal the living room. Once inside, our security scatters, and Christian leads us to the foyer, where I recognize the polished staircase that leads to his childhood bedroom. We ascend three floors before we reach it. He opens the door, ushers me into the room, and flips on the light.

"Would you like to share what's going on, Anastasia?" he quietly asks, not moving from the door.

I don't answer and stalk into the room's bathroom, shutting the door behind me. In the large mirror over the sink, I take a hard look at myself. Despite my make-up, I'm paler than usual, save bright flushed cheeks. Fanning myself with one hand, I use my other to lift my long hair off of my back in the hopes of cooling down. I take a deep breath and grab a hand towel. Turning on the sink's faucet, I wet the towel with cold water, and place it around my neck. I sit on the closed toilet seat. Christian raps on the door.

"May I come in?" he asks.

"Why are you asking me? It's your bathroom."

He opens the door, a frown on his face. He cautiously approaches me, running a hand through his hair. He takes a few paces towards me before he stops.

"Ana, what's wrong?"

I close my eyes and swallow. "Everything," I answer, shaking my head. When I open them, I see that Christian has squatted down beside me, and is resting on the balls of his feet so we're at eye level. His face is scrutinizing mine, and he looks tense.

"Care to expound?" His voice is low and soft.

"Not really."

He reaches out and takes the wet towel from me, rubbing it on throat. My heart is pounding as I stare in his serious gray eyes.

"Please?" His sincerity is palpable.

Frowning, I blow a long breath in his face. "I don't want to be here, Christian . . . Kate pissed me off. I'm a ball of nerves and wrought with anxiety . . . and don't you dare suggest I take an Ativan. I'm hot and sweaty . . . I feel sick. I don't feel like I fit in here. This is your world, Christian, not mine. Everything else . . ." My words trail off, and I push his hand away.

"What's everything, Ana? I'm at a serious disadvantage here." Pulling me up with him, he leads me to the bed. "Rest if you don't feel well. I can get my—"

I interrupt the stupid words that are about to escape his mouth. "You are not getting your mother, Christian. It's her birthday party, for God's sake."

He sighs, sitting beside me on the bed. "We can leave. Mom will understand that you're ill."

"No, I'm not . . . We aren't leaving. This is a big deal for your mother and I want to be here for her. I just need to get my shit together. You and Kate really made me angry, and I already felt awful. I'm tired of everyone asking how I'm doing. And to be honest, I've been mad at you all week."

Christian's forearms are resting on his knees, he's looking at the floor. "I know, Ana. I'm sorry for my behavior. Really, baby, I apologize. I just didn't know . . . I just don't know what to do."

"I'm aware of that, but it doesn't excuse your behavior. You don't have a valid reason to hide from me in the first place. I have valid reasons . . . but I haven't run away. You should be grateful that I've chosen to stop badgering you."

His eyes are wide when he looks at me again. "You've chosen to stop?" he asks, looking genuinely confused.

"Yes. After what happened in New York, I'm no longer going to delve into your . . . Into our past. In my opinion, you should be happy and not be avoiding me like I have the plague." I've raised my voice, and am grateful the house is empty. "I know that I'm all over the place, Christian, and I'm really trying to keep it together, hell, I think I'm doing a good job of keeping it together."

"You're doing one hell of a job keeping it together. I'm sure that I couldn't deal with all of this so well. But if you're becoming physically ill because you lack the information that you want, then I think we should finish that conversation. "His expression is pained.

"No. I don't want to go there again. It's exhausting . . . You're exhausting."

Christian's expression softens. "So, I am. I don't strive to be, Ana."

And I know that he doesn't.

"Why did you hire Parson back?" I ask because I really want to know.

He groans, and rubs his hands down his face. "Do we really have to get into this right now? I wanted you to have fun, not discussing all of that shit," he replies.

"Christian, I really do want to know. I've heard how you nearly killed the man before firing him. So, what's he doing downstairs wearing an ear piece?"

"You saw the ear piece?" He's stifling a laugh.

"Who in the hell didn't? Can't Taylor find smaller ones for his guys to wear?"

Now, he does laugh and pulls me close to him.

"Baby, you'd have to ask him. I pay him to be in charge of all of the security – I don't oversee it."

'So?"

"Baby, I don't want to talk about all of that shit tonight. I want you to be carefree tonight."

"How can you possibly expect me to be carefree? Hell, I live in apprehension, just waiting for some loon to jump out from behind a corner and grab me."

Christian runs both of his hands through his hair. I predict that he'll be bald by thirty.

"Taylor re-hired Parson because he was your CPO and was with you every work day. While he never saw Hyde act inappropriately around you, he is the only one who is familiar with the way Hyde walks – all of his mannerisms, his body type. Taylor thinks that Parson is the man who could easily spot him. I agreed and re-hired him. Don't get pissed off, but he's been tailing Sawyer and Prescott, too. Before you go off on me, it's in case Hyde is following you. Hence, he'd be following you even with security present, and Parson would spot him."

Christian looks like a man headed to the gallows, however, he shouldn't, his decision is rational, and I understand it. I smile and squeeze his hand.

"I'm not angry. It's a smart move and one that I appreciate. Hopefully, that will ease my fears a little bit. Thank you for protecting me, Christian." I kiss his cheek and run my knuckles down his cleanly shaven face.

Watching his body relax and expression soften proves that he's carrying a heavy burden. How can I put up a fight when it comes to allowing him to keep me safe?

I can't.

"I would move the moon and the sun to make sure that you're safe, Anastasia. There isn't a single reason for me to exist if you ever leave me. I love you beyond reason," he breathes.

"I love you, too . . . and I don't care if I ever recall a single thing, as long as we're together now."

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Ana. Don't ever doubt that." He kisses the palm of my hand.

"Never. Not even after your childish behavior this week, Mr. Grey." I smile at him and quickly kiss his lips. "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"I have a theory about this Jack Hyde," I reply. Christian nods, and I continue. "We know that he's a disgusting sadist and that in itself, makes me sick. But I don't think the fact that he's a sexual predator that preys on women, makes him a killer who is out there waiting for a second chance at getting his hands on me. I'm not saying that the thought of him doesn't scare me shitless, I'm just saying that I don't think he's out to kill me . . . I don't believe he's in hiding, biding his time until he finds me vulnerable and on my own. I think that he's left Seattle to escape being arrested. I think he's long gone and we won't see his face again."

Christian's body has tensed and he's narrowed his eyes, although he looks angry, I don't think his anger is directed at me.

"That's plausible, but no one, myself included, is willing to lower their guard when it comes to Hyde. I don't mean to frighten you, Anastasia; I just want you to realize Hyde's a sick fuck, one that I'll never allow the opportunity to put his hands on you again."

I nod and say nothing. There's really nothing to say.

"Let's go back to the party. Everyone is probably wondering where we are. Plus, I want you to have fun and be happy,"

"Happy," I say.

The word falls flat on my tongue. Am I happy?

We're trapped in silence, and the longer it drags on, Christian's expression becomes one of alarm.

He takes hold of my chin and pushes my head up. His eyes are wide and fearful.

"Anastasia, you are happy, aren't you?" he breathes.

That's a million-dollar question. God knows I ask myself that very same thing every day. We're staring into one another's eyes, but my eyes aren't focused, so I'm not seeing him at all. My mind is elsewhere.

Am I happy? Have I been happy since I woke up in a hospital room with two doctors by my side, and a nurse barking at me? I've had happy moments since then; I've had happy days. Or were they just enjoyable? Have I spent time with people I love, and those who love me, but did those times make me happy? Sometimes I feel like the time I spend with others is just . . . bearable. Am I happy? I don't fucking think that I am. People keep telling me that I was happy after meeting Christian, and I've seen proof of it. I've watched videos of the two of us, and that couple looks happy. But am I happy now? I haven't been tonight . . . I haven't been all week. Oh, shut up, mind. Please, shut up.

"No."

I said it, and I said it out loud.

Christian looks crestfallen, and his hand falls from my chin, landing dully between us.

"You aren't happy being with me? Do you still love me, Anastasia?" I can barely hear him speaking.

Sighing, I put my head on his shoulder, careful not to get make-up on his dinner jacket. I take his hand back and hold it tightly.

"Yes, I love you, Christian. I am in love with you, and knowing that you feel the same, makes me happy. I'm happy when I'm in your arms, and when it's just the two of us." I stop, trying to find words that fit my thoughts. "But do I think my life is even-keeled, or even has a purpose that I'm proud of? No, I don't. And I think a person who is truly happy has to feel that way. I'm not saying that my life is miserable, I'm just saying that while I have happy moments and happy days, generally, I'm not happy.

Don't think it has anything to do with you or reflects shit to our relationship because it doesn't. What happened to me may be why I feel so unsettled. I'm just . . . present . . . in my life. I think that I'm missing a puzzle piece. I'm not referring to my memories, I'm talking about something bigger than those. Actually, I'm debating if I even care if I remember anything. I just don't know . . . I just don't know." My voice is hoarse and quiet.

"You're scaring the shit out of me, Ana. What should I do? What can I do to make you happy?" he asks me, his chin is quivering. "Tell me, I'll do anything."

Placing a finger to his lips, I shake my head. My eyes are beginning to water. Bless this man. He's trying so hard, and I'm beginning to think I'm going crazy, that I'm too broken to meet him halfway.

"Shh, there's nothing to be afraid of. I'm in love with you, Christian, there isn't anything you can do. This isn't about you—"

He roughly pulls away. He looks incredulous. Puzzled. Angry.

"The fuck it isn't! We're in this life together, Ana. If you aren't happy, then I'm not making you happy."

"Christian, calm down. Please, don't make this about you, or us, please. I can't nail down why I feel this way. I'm just out of sorts and don't feel fulfilled . . . maybe I should go back to work, or get out more. I'm always in the penthouse. I really don't know."

"Fuck no, you aren't going back to work?" he loudly exclaims. "The fuck you will. The last time you had a job, you had a lecherous boss that you never told me about, and he nearly killed you! Do you realize if you'd have told me about Hyde that we wouldn't be having this conversation?"

I jump to feet and loom over his angry face. He's grinding his teeth together and tearing at his hair.

"Are you fucking blaming me for what happened? Is that what you think, Christian? You really think that?" I yell at the top of my lungs.

Christian blames me for being attacked?

He jumps to his feet and yanks his bow tie off. Fists are clenched and his body vibrating – his face is set in pain. "For fuck's sake, Ana, of course, I don't! I didn't mean to say it . . . I didn't mean for it to come out that way. Baby, I've never blamed you, I never would, please believe me," he pleads with me, his eyes are beginning to water. "Please, forgive me, please, please, forgive me for implying that."

"W-Why would you. . . say that then? Have you ever thought that I could have prevented this from happening?" My heart's hammering – yet, I stay firm. Still, tears begin to flow down my face.

Christian grabs me, pulling me to his chest roughly, and burying his face in my hair. My arms are dangling by my side, and even when I feel his body shudder from crying, I still don't have the want to comfort him. Saying nothing, I remain stock still, while he uses my hair to hide his pain.

He pushes himself back and grabs hold of the sides of my head. Tears are pouring down his beautiful face, and I can see shame burning in his gray eyes.

"I don't know why I said it. Maybe because your words hurt me because I'm devastated and have been since September. I already feel helpless, baby, and now you're telling me that you aren't happy. I'm at a loss . . . Ana, I want you to remember . . . I honest to God want you to remember. The only time I've felt momentarily angry with you over Hyde assaulting you was the night of the attack, and that's when Kate told me how Hyde had been treating you. I felt out of control and I didn't understand why you hadn't told me about Hyde. But I have never . . . ever . . . thought you brought all of this to happen. Never, Ana."

Every ounce of anger, irritation, and unease begins to slowly evaporate – like air leaking from a balloon. There's no way this man would blame me, he's too quick to blame himself for everything. I know that he's sincere because I can see the sincerity glowing in his eyes. His expression is one of torture. Oh, how this fresh hell is tearing us both into pieces. It is undermining our relationship – our connection. Neither of us asked to be overcome by this hurricane, but it's sapping all of our strength, and we can't figure out a way to fight it. Something much bigger is attempting to sever our coupling, and I cannot allow that to happen. I don't want to allow it to happen. Fuck thinking that every day should be full of happiness and sunshine – I know that's impossible. Fuck whether or not I remember jack shit – I'm all too aware that I probably won't. What I am aware of, is that only Christian Grey can jerk my heart strings, and make my blood bubble. He's the only man who torments himself over the fact he can't control what I'm going through – how I am admittedly suffering. He's suffering too. Christian wants me to remember him because I loved him the way that he was, and I feel his fear . . . even if I'm still not sure what he's afraid of.

I have to comfort him. Comfort myself. I have to remind us both of the deep connection we have.

Pulling his head down, I smash my lips on his, tasting the salty tears on them. We're quickly all fingers and tongues, soft moans, and coarse breathing. I know that we should probably talk like adults, and not grope each other like teenagers, but I'm in too deep, and everything around us fades away.

* * *

Christian and I missed dinner, and very nearly missed Grace cut the cake. Thankfully, when we returned, despite everyone's curious glances, no one asked us where we went, or why. I shook my head when I saw a drunken Kate raise an eyebrow at me, and I didn't miss the concern etched on Ray and Grace's faces. There are just times when two adults deserve to not be held accountable for their behavior.

Tonight is one of those times.

Later, Christian and I saunter to the bar and are joined by his siblings, along with Kate and Ethan. Kate's already drunk; she's only able to sit on a bar stool because Elliot is holding her up. Mia's clearly riding a buzz, while the three men are soberly nursing a bourbon. I'm sipping ginger ale.

"Congratulations, Mia, you made this night spectacular for your mother," I tell her, who is perched beside me. Even while sitting, Mia towers over me. She looks gorgeous tonight; she's all legs and a slinky blue gown.

"Do you really think so, Ana? I was afraid Mom wouldn't like it. Although she effortlessly throws huge charity events, her style is understated and she isn't interested in having a fuss made over her. You know that I'm the complete opposite of that." Mia stops to laugh at her own words. Her giggle is so infectious that I join her. "But I wanted to do something special for her. She seems to be enjoying herself, don't you think?"

"Absolutely. She hasn't stopped smiling all night; she even smiled when she saw that massive cake."

From the other end of the bar, I hear Kate snort. "You nailed it, Mia. I'm going to have you plan everything when Elliot and I get married."

Everyone's heads snap in her direction. Elliot's grinning like a fool and shrugs his shoulders.

"What?" Mia screeches. "Elliot Trevelyan-Grey, have you proposed to Kate and not told anyone?" She's craning her neck to catch his eye and find Kate's left hand.

"He hasn't . . . yet!" Kate replies, in a voice so loud it pierces through me.

"Pipe down, Kavanagh. You're in public, for God's sake," Christian lowly grumbles. "Elliot, do something with your girlfriend."

"Pardon me, mogul, but you aren't a part of this conversation. This is between me and my future sister-in-law," Kate drunkenly hollers.

"Katie girl, take it down a notch, OK? I don't want my mother coming over here and kicking us out. Drink this water and chill," Elliot slides Kate a glass of water, and I watch her push it away.

A trashed Kate tries everyone's patience. And sanity.

"Ana, do you want to go? You look tired," asks Christian. He tucks me under his arm and kisses the top of my head.

"I'd be offended by your question if I wasn't this tired, Mr. Grey. Don't you know you never tell a woman she looks bad?" I kid him, as I fight off my malaise.

"Seriously, Ana. I'm ready to cut out of here. I hate this shit," he whispers in my ear.

"No, whispering, Christian!" Mia butts in. "Just because you act like an old man doesn't mean that Ana has to behave like an old woman. Let her have some fun."

"Shut up, Mia."

"No, you shut up!" she childishly retorts.

"Why don't the both of you shut the fuck up?" Elliot interjects.

I'm beginning to re-think my theory about only children. I'm also ready to go home and crawl under the covers.

"Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck," Mia loudly hisses. She's looking to the right of us all.

"What is it, babe?" Poor Ethan finally says something. Mia has ignored him most of the night.

"Yeah, what's wrong?" Elliot asks, placing the glass of water back in front of his drunk girlfriend.

"Look to your right . . . Mother fucker," Mia mutters, then downs her glass of red wine in one swallow.

Christian is set to open his mouth, probably to chastise Mia for swearing, but his eyes follow those of his siblings. He stiffens and tightens his hold on me. Throwing back his drink, he quickly turns his head back to me.

"Aw, fuck!" Elliot exclaims, not caring to lower his voice. "Why, Mia, why?"

I'm trying to see what all of the fuss is about, but Christian has me firmly implanted under his arm.

"You know why, El. I fucking had too."

"Christ, I hate that bitch! My mother hates that bitch. Why is she coming over here?" Kate slurs.

"Probably to highjack money off our brother, as usual," Elliot answers Kate.

Now, my interest is really piqued. I curiously look up at Christian and extradite myself from his grasp to look for the reason that has Christian's siblings and my best friend in such a disgusted uproar.

"Ugh, I haven't seen her all night, thank you, baby Jesus. God, please let her pass us by without stopping," Kate groans.

Directly to the right, a tall blonde woman is walking to where we're all sitting. She's a beautiful, bottled blonde, her hair is a sleek, shiny bob. She's an older woman, maybe in her early fifties, and has a warm and beaming smile. Her strapless black gown hugs her body like a second skin. I'm surprised that anyone in such a tight dress can walk as quickly as she can. She's beside Elliot and Kate with two more steps, while the Grey's and Kate are still swearing under their breath.

"Hello, Elliot, Katherine," she says in a soft and pleasant voice. "I was leaving, but spotted all of you, and wanted to say hello."

Kate pointedly turns away from the woman heightening my interest. Elliot stands but doesn't look pleased.

I note that both Ethan and Christian seem to have forgotten the ingrained gentlemanly manners I know they both have. Neither stood up to greet her.

"Elena," he greets her, stiff and curt. She makes a show of kissing both of his cheeks, and I hear Kate muttering the word bitch.

"How are you, my dear? I haven't seen any of you in ages."

She seems nice and friendly. I don't understand the frosty reception. There's definitely a story here.

"We're all doing well, Elena, thank you," he replies, then sits back on the bar stool, and turns his back to her.

I'm a taken aback. Usually, Elliot is the epitome of manners. However, the blonde is unflappable and persists.

"Hasn't tonight just been wonderful? What a grand celebration for your mother. She looks thrilled."

This woman's eyes flit over us and land on Mia. She moves closer to her – closer to me. I inhale her strong perfume, and my stomach churns.

"Darling, you simply did a marvelous job with this party. I told Grace that you should consider being an event planner. You have the talent for it and you've certainly set the bar for other events."

A brief smile flits on Mia's lips. Truthfully, it looks like a small grimace. "Thank you, Elena," her response is very curt, but the blonde doesn't seem to notice.

I vaguely hear Kate as she continues to softly mutter words that I can't make out, and I think Elliot is whispering for her to shut up, although I can't be sure because their voices have turned into a loud buzzing noise inside my head. I numbly feel Christian's body shift as he slowly stands to greet the blonde, and the buzzing becomes louder. My stomach heaves, and I swallow back the vomit that I nearly spew.

I know what is about to happen before it hits me.

The blinding pain hits the left side of my head as hard as any baseball bat could. It feels like my head explodes into a million little pieces. I believe I whimper as I try to suck in some precious air. My eyes un-focus, I lose my sight, and the left side of my body slackens.

The visual aura I've had with my previous headaches have always been a blinding white light, yet even as the pain takes over, I know this aura is different - it's red.

My legs go out, and I feel myself crumpling to the floor.


	11. Chapter 11

I only own the numerous mistakes that you'll find.

* * *

 _~Chapter Eleven~_

 _Christian_

I've pressed this goddamned call button so a nurse will come and do something to shut this fucking IV pump off a dozen times. It's been beeping on and off for the past two hours, and I'm ready to throw it out of the fucking window. The staff on this unit seem lazy, it's like they don't know their ass from their elbow. The lab technician that just drew Ana's blood for some tests didn't know how to quiet it either. Fucking idiot.

Last night, Anastasia was moved from the ED to a room on the neuro step-down unit. She's in the same room she was in after regaining consciousness from her coma. The room is at the very end of the unit to ensure complete privacy, and where security can stand outside of her room without disturbing other patients and their families. Taylor and Sawyer and stationed right outside the door. I sent Prescott home; the woman needed some time off.

Ray and I have been glued to Ana's side since she collapsed. It's half past seven in the morning – six hours or so since she fell unconscious from one of those damn headaches – the worst one she's ever had – her words. Sitting at the bar last night, I recognized what was about to happen with one glance at her and jumped up to keep her from meeting the floor. She was immediately in my arms, while I yelled at everyone to get the fuck back and give her some breathing room. Taylor and Sawyer were beside us in the blink of an eye; Sawyer was already on the phone with 911. Once at the hospital, Sawyer told me that he instantly knew what was happening since he witnessed the last episode Ana had. That's the reason I insist Taylor employ men like Luke Sawyer. I've already told Taylor to add a ten grand bonus to his next paycheck.

Despite regaining consciousness before arriving at Harborview, along with Ana confirming it was another headache, she was rushed straight to radiology so she could have a CT scan. The neurologist on duty wanted to rule out a stroke, and when he mentioned that possibility, I thought Ray was going to lose it, even though Ana kept reassuring him it was a headache. Like the night Hyde assaulted his daughter, he dropped his mask of stoicism, and I could see the pain in his eyes. No matter her balking over it, having the CT made perfect sense; Ana admitted it was unlike her previous episodes and was in so much pain she could hardly keep her eyes open. Thankfully, the scan didn't show any abnormality; that frustrates me. I want to know what's causing these episodes and if they're going to plague Ana for the rest of her life. They administered a strong pain killer that knocked her out and admitted her so Dr. Berman could see her this morning.

Ray and I have been staring at Anastasia's unmoving form, listening to this IV pump shrieking at us. We're wearing our clothes from last night, and I keep telling Ray to allow one of my guys to take him back to my apartment, but he refuses to leave. I'm not renowned for my patience and I'm sick of waiting for Berman to make an appearance. I'm pacing the room like a caged tiger, while Ray's as still as stone.

Finally, the door to Ana's room is opened, only to reveal the ball buster nurse who cared for Ana when she was on this unit months ago. Shit. I'm not going to enjoy going nose to nose with Nurse Nora - the nurse straight from Hell, and I'm positive that will happen. Ray and I stand as she enters the room.

Without greeting us, she goes straight for the pump and gratefully ceases its beeping. I hear her mumbling about the night nurse's incompetence while she does so. Fussing over Ana's arm, she straightens the IV tubing before injecting something into it.

"What is that?" I ask her.

Nurse Nora doesn't raise her head to look at me. "Saline. I had to flush the IV. The tubing was kinked, and it caused blood to back up in the line. It's nothing serious." She looks up and stares at both of us.

"I'm sorry to see that Miss Steele is back in the hospital," she says.

I don't doubt her sincerity, but shit, she's so brusque and sounds so unfriendly. I watch her take Ana's vital signs and write them in her chart. She works quickly; Ana's pillows are re-positioned, face washed clean, and she puts her stethoscope on Ana's chest and stomach. She loudly complains when she discovers the night nurse didn't empty Ana's catheter bag. After disposing of its contents in the bathroom, Nurse Nora scribbles in the chart in her hands, never speaking to either Ray or myself.

"Does everything look all right with my daughter this morning?" asks Ray.

"Well, as you know, her CAT scan was good. All of her vital signs are normal and the fluids have rehydrated her. Since they gave her a strong narcotic for pain in the emergency room, she'll probably sleep for a while . . . and it's going on, what . . . seven hours since they gave her the medicine? She'll probably wake by noon, perhaps, sooner. I was told that neither of you could explain why Miss Steele was dehydrated."

Is that a question?

I nod along with Ray. "No. Last night she was drinking water and ginger ale; she was eating, not a lot, but she was still eating. We don't know why she dehydrated," I answer. "However, Ana did mention that she hadn't been feeling well."

"No vomiting at all?" Nurse Nora's stance and the way she looks at us reminds me of a drill instructor.

"Not that we're aware of, and she was with me all night," I reply.

She looks at me curiously. "Even when Miss Steele went to the restroom, Mr. Grey?"

"No, of course not."

"Well, then ... .you can't say that Miss Steele wasn't vomiting, now can you? No diarrhea?" she persists.

Anastasia would be mortified. In fact, she would probably have a heart attack.

Ray chuckles. He's probably thinking along the same lines.

"We can't say, although she's been looking tired, but I guess that's from the holiday Christian took her on."

"Where'd you spend the holidays? Out of the country?" She's laser focused on me for some reason, and her questions sound like a Rottweiler growling.

"No, New York City. We've been home for a week."

"Well, I expect that Dr. Berman will be here soon. Miss Steele is her only patient." Nurse Nora washes her hands and bids us goodbye.

It's like watching a witch take flight on her broom.

Ray turns to me, laughing. "She's a crusty one, isn't she? I remember the two of you arguing a lot when Ana was here before."

"Yeah, she is, but I think she's a good nurse. My mother says so, at least. I just like being in the know, and not understanding all of this medical shit pisses me off," I say, sitting back in the chair beside Anastasia.

"I'm right there with you, Christian. I'm proficient in all things military and anything to do with power tools, otherwise, I'm lost." Ray takes his place on the other side of Ana's bed.

"I wouldn't be so upset if Ana remembers something after she has these episodes; although, it would be a necessary evil so she'd recall something. Shit, it just seems like they strike just make her suffer. I can't take seeing her like that, and last night scared the hell out of me," I mutter.

"I was hoping she was free from them since she hasn't had one since Thanksgiving. But Annie hasn't been herself, even though she's trying to pretend that she is. She can't fool me."

I crane my neck to look across the bed at Ray. "What do you mean?" I ask, alarm bells ringing.

He looks at me skeptically. "Do you believe this young lady is really well? If so, you'd better take a closer look, and I'm not saying that to be an asshole. Ana's down and out, and the magnitude of this bullshit has been weighing on her since she opened her eyes, and it's physically affecting her," Ray replies.

I lean my head back and blow out the breath I'd been holding.

"I know. I'm hoping that the anti-depressants will begin to get her in a better place emotionally, and hopefully, she'll feel stronger to fight all of this."

"All of this?" he questions.

"Yes, all of this . . . She's scared shitless, the memory loss is frustrating her to no end, and obviously, now it's all making her ill."

Ray leans forward, placing his forearms on his legs, and looks over at me. I can't read his expression.

"Christian, I want to know the more about this Leila Williams. Don't give me any bullshit either. I think there's more to what you're telling everyone. I've kept my mouth shut up until now, but a person doesn't go to such lengths to kill someone unless they've got one hell of a grudge against them. We will have a problem if you tell me it's none of my business. It became my business when she went after Ana." Ray's tone is gruff, and he sounds tired. He stares me down.

Where in the hell is this coming from?

What's the appropriate answer here, because I honestly don't know why Leila came out of nowhere and is now homicidal. It's been years since I've seen her, and we parted amicably. She'd been a good submissive, would hardly break any of my rules, and although I would have to think of the smallest infractions so that I could punish her, she never safe-worded. After the contract ended, I'd thought nothing of her, and Elena never mentioned Leila's name. Thinking about it, it seems like Leila left the BDSM scene altogether.

"Listen, Ray, I have been honest. Leila never exhibited any signs of having a mental illness or a substance abuse problem like the cops suggested. A time came when we both felt like parting ways, and I never heard a word from her after that," I answer, and I'm grateful that I can truthfully – I'm just not disclosing the type of relationship.

Ray Steele is still staring at me skeptically, and it's beginning to piss me off.

"So, she was fine with losing the perks of being with Christian Grey? Even if it was in the shadows?" he challenges me.

I raise an eyebrow and run my hands through my hair. Now I am pissed, and I can't believe that Ray is asking me these questions. He's never acted like he has doubted me, or what I've told my family and the police, and he's had plenty of opportunities to question me.

"The perks?"

He snorts. "Your money, Christian. Leila Williams, and all of those other women - they didn't mind when they no longer shared the bed of a billionaire?"

OK, what's going on with Ray?

Ray suddenly stands, and I immediately follow. It wasn't an aggressive move on his part, and he doesn't seem combative, but I'm truly shocked to see him behave like this. Maybe it's because he's been awake all night, but this isn't the Ray Steele that I know. No, he's the Ray Steele that can't take watching his daughter suffer, whether it be from my past or the aftermath of her attack.

Right as I'm about to reply, there's a rap on the door. Taylor ducks his head inside, and I spot another man standing behind him.

"Sir, Detective Clark is here. I realize this isn't the ideal time, but I believe you'll want to hear what he has to say," he says reluctantly. His eyes dart towards Ray.

I nod and take a look at Ana. Knowing she won't wake up anytime soon, I gesture for Ray to follow me from the room. I leave the door cracked open behind me in case she does wake up. Once we're in the hall, I see Clark, along with another man that I've never seen before.

"Mr. Grey, Mr. Steele, I know this isn't an appropriate place to have this discussion, and I hate to intrude, but this is information I know you'd want to be made aware of immediately," Clark begins. "This is Detective McNally. He's also working the Jack Hyde case."

"It's fine, Clark, as long as you're here to tell us you've found that bastard," Ray replies quietly through gritted teeth.

Neither of us acknowledges McNally; Sawyer is standing by the corner of the hallway to block our huddle.

Both men nod, and my earlier exhaustion vaporizes. God, please tell me they've found this fucker so I can kill him.

"Late yesterday morning, Jack Hyde withdrew money from a Bank of America ATM in Newcastle, Wyoming. He was only able to get the daily limit the bank allows—" Clark begins.

"Do you have the son of a bitch?" I don't allow him to finish. My voice is raised – I don't give a fuck if I'm in a hospital.

Both Clark and McNally look grim. It's obvious they wish they were anywhere else right now. I sigh because I know what they're going to say next. Ray looks ready to start throwing punches.

"Unfortunately, we were not made aware of this development until a few hours ago," McNally picks up. "There's more. . . Hyde used his credit card at a Chevron gas station in Wentworth, South Dakota. The camera inside the store showed him buying junk food, and then Hyde gassed up a 2001 black Honda Accord with a stolen Montana license plate. The outside camera caught everything and got a great shot of the plate numbers. It was lifted from a '89 Taurus in the small town of Hardin."

Clark glances at McNally, who nods at him.

"He has not been apprehended. After the Accord left the gas pumps, it went out of camera view, and we don't know which direction Hyde went. He was alone," Clark tells me, my gaze frozen on him.

"Are you telling me a camera at a goddamned Chevron in South fucking Dakota caught Jack Hyde driving off into the sunset?" My voice is low, and I'm trembling from fury.

"I wouldn't exactly describe it that way, Mr. Grey, but yes, Hyde left the gas station, and we don't know in which direction; he hasn't used a credit or debit card again, nor has he been spotted since leaving the store," Clark replies.

Ray steps forward; his face is blood red. "Where'd he jack the car from?" he spits.

"Mr. Steele, we checked for reports of any stolen 2011 black Honda Accords from here to South Dakota, and there were over eighty, although no one caught sight of the cars being stolen," McNally replies. He's much younger than Clark, maybe even my age; his green eyes never waver as Ray glares at him. "We have no way of knowing where he stole the car since we don't have its VIN."

"Mr. Grey, the women who filed charges against Hyde and you helped temporarily re-locate are still nearby, aren't they? None of them are in the area where Hyde was sighted, or east of South Dakota, are they?" he inquires.

I shake my head. Does he really think that I'd move the women without consulting the police, or keep them from testifying against Hyde? That I'd leave them unprotected? I'm really not in the mood for his, or anyone else's bullshit right now.

"No, McNally. Those women remain where they've been in hiding. You have their contact information and can easily check in. I still have security watching over each of them."

"Good. . ." McNally's phone vibrates and he sends it to voicemail. "Before either of you ask, guys working the case have been trying to contact those Hyde knew when he lived in New York. No luck."

"OK, the son of a bitch is on the run and appears to be heading east. Now, you're going to tell us that the Seattle police no longer sees him as an imminent threat to my daughter, and are pulling their investigation back, right?" Ray asks the men, both have the decency to look contrite.

"Mr. Steele, the SPD will continue to look for Jack Hyde, and he's now made it a nationwide manhunt, but yes, the nature of the investigation has changed," answers Clark.

"What about that cunt, Williams? Why in the fuck can't you find her?" Ray's voice is rising; he's nearly shouting. I'm shocked by his language but understand his frustration and anger.

"Mr. Steele, everything that can be done to find Leila Williams is being done, I assure you." McNally's tone is low and he shoves his hands into his pants pockets. He also appears frustrated. "I've helped out a bit on the Williams case, and I've interviewed a few people who know Williams, and she hasn't reached out to any of them."

My mind settles on McNally's words as I wonder who these people are. Have the police uncovered the true nature of my relationship with Leila? Did Warren open her mouth about being my submissive? Surely not, a woman in her position has too much to lose. No, Grey, shove that ridiculous thought out of your mind. That's fucking idiotic.

"So, we just wait until she tries to kill my daughter or Mr. Grey again?"

Clark sighs. "No, Mr. Steele. . ."

"Christian?" a hoarse and sleep laden voice croaks out my name, and it takes my attention away from Clark.

Shit, we woke Ana up. I slip back into her room without excusing myself and shut the door behind me. I don't want her to know the police are here.

Smiling, I quickly make my way to her and bend to kiss her forehead.

"How are you feeling, baby?" I keep my voice soft and low as I perch myself beside her on the bed.

Ana slowly takes in her surroundings and rubs her eyes.

"Sleepy. . . They admitted me?"

"Yes. Ray and I are guilty of insisting on it since you described the pain being worse than it had been previously."

"The scan was normal. All I needed was some pain relief, Christian. Good grief," Ana replies exhaustedly.

"Well, we wanted to make sure, Anastasia. We also wanted Dr. Berman to check you out."

Trying to sit up in bed, Ana struggles with her tangled blankets. She scowls when I help her.

"Oh, don't you say you called Dr. Berman to come here just for me? You could have taken me to her office. No, you didn't even have to do that. It was just another headache. It just looks like I'll need to get used to having them." Ana sounds resigned.

"I did request that Dr. Berman comes here. It turned out to be a headache and nothing more serious, but I want to know why you're having them, and if they are going to continue. I don't want you to have to get used to them, especially if I can do something to prevent that."

"Did I hear shouting? I think that's what woke me up."

Ana looks at me, her eyelids heavy and drooping. She needs to go back to sleep, and I don't want to get into the Hyde shit right now.

"We'll talk about it later, I promise," I reply.

"I'm actually too tired to insist you tell me."

I smile. "Good. Now go to sleep. You haven't slept enough."

"Christian, I don't think that's something that you can control, although I appreciate that you'd like to."

"Is your head still hurting?" I ask her, gently stroking her hair. She shakes her head no.

"No, I'm just sleepy. I can barely keep my eyes open." Ana stops, her forehead crinkling. "Oh, Christian . . . I've got a catheter? Why?"

I have to fight a grin. Ana whining is amusing.

"For one thing, they're flooding you with IV fluids that have to come out some way and you were out like a light. You couldn't very well get up and use the bathroom, now could you?"

For the first time, Ana notices the IV in her hand and makes a face.

"An IV? What is this about?" she asks. "This is ridiculous."

I stare at her. That's a question I've been repeatedly asked and I can't answer. Now, maybe Ana can.

"You were dehydrated," I begin. "They've been asking if you've had a virus; if you've been throwing up or having any kind of stomach trouble. . ." My words trail away as Ana turns the color of a red crayon.

"God, they asked you and Ray that? How embarrassing. Did Ray nearly die?"

Laughing, I pull her into my arms. "I think he wanted to, but he was too worried about you, so he got over it. We told them that as far as we knew, you haven't been sick. . . like that. Have you?"

"Sick? No, no . . . I haven't been sick. You know . . . I've just felt tired all week. I haven't been sick." Ana begins to pick at the corner of her blanket. "You're still dressed for the party. Did you spend the night here?"

"Oh, Miss Steele. You know the answer to that question. Ray did too." I bite my tongue. Ana's going to want to know where Ray's at, and I don't want to bring Hyde up while she's in the hospital. I'm not given a choice though. Ray pushes the door open; he's cursing at someone that he's looking at over his shoulder.

As I expected, Ana becomes alarmed.

"Dad, what's the matter? Who are you yelling at? So, I did hear yelling," she says, looking at me.

Ray stares at me, fury emanating off of him. He looks between the two of us.

"Have you filled her in?"

I remain on the bed beside Ana. I'm incredibly irritated by Ray's sense of timing. He could have at least discussed the best way to inform her with me, before just jumping into it. But by looking at him, his anger has taken control of his rationale.

"What's he talking about? Filled me in about what, Christian?" she asks.

Fighting my urge to verbally assault my girlfriend's father, I rub my eyes and shake my head, sighing.

"No, Ray. We were discussing how Ana felt. I thought that you and I could discuss the best way to fill her in . . . Instead of just dumping this information in her lap all at once."

I am so fucking angry that I'm surprised that the tone of my voice sounds so even and controlled. I feel everything but even and controlled. My expression is bland, and Ray's scowl disappears the longer he gazes at his daughter, who is visibly distressed. Ana looks Ray, then at me, then back to Ray. She can tell there is a storm brewing inside of me, and that for some reason, it's directed towards her father.

"Will one of you please tell me what's going on?"

Ray takes his seat beside Ana's bed; his expression is one of irritation and anger. I'm not sure if it's directed entirely at me, or what we've just learned about Jack Hyde.

"Anastasia, two of the detectives that have been working the case to find Jack Hyde came by while you were asleep. I'm assuming they've left since your dad's back in the room," I answer her, allowing him to step up and say whatever he wants to. "I'm sure they'll speak with you at some later time."

"And?" Ana asks loudly, her sleep-laden eyes are penetrating mine, her hair is a mess – and she's never looked more beautiful.

"Ray? Do you want to tell Ana, or shall I?"

"Ana, that jerk Clark, and some other detective came by and told us that Hyde has been spotted. Before you get upset . . . he's nowhere near Seattle. Yesterday, he withdrew some money from an ATM in Wyoming, and was later spotted again at a gas station in South Dakota," Ray tells her.

Ana's mouth has dropped open and she's as pale as her bed sheet. I reach to take her hand and squeeze it gently.

"What does that mean? I mean, what do the police think? What did they tell you?" She looks at me. "Did you talk with them, too?"

"Yeah, baby, I did. When Hyde was caught on camera inside that gas station in South Dakota, he was loading up on shit food . . . He was in a stolen car that had a stolen Montana tag on it. The police don't know where he lifted the car, or which direction he went when he left the gas station."

"So . . . what does that mean? What do they think he's doing? Do they have an idea where he might be going?" she presses.

"He's running eastward. Considering the convenience store's video feed, he's alone," Ray tells her. "Christian, after you came in here, Clark says the few former foster families Hyde lived with as a child in Detroit, haven't heard from him either."

The mention of the city of my birth makes my spine tingle. Unwanted memories try to flood my mind, but I push them back; they aren't welcome. They'll never be welcomed. Ana turns her knowing gaze on me and offers me her gentle smile. She knows. She always has. The woman has always seen right through me.

We all sit in an uncomfortable silence for a moment until Ana breaks it.

"What does this mean for me? They're still going to be looking for him aren't them?"

"Baby girl, they will always be on the outlook for Hyde, but they are cutting back on the investigation since he's done a runner and is headed east," Ray replies.

Anastasia gasps; her hands fly to her mouth. Tears begin to flow down her cheeks, and I take her in my arms. Even though Jack Hyde is half away across the country, he's still hurting Ana.

"Anastasia, please calm down. Just because the police are taking a step back on finding that bastard, it doesn't mean that I am. The protection measures I have on you, and all of those in place concerning Hyde's residence, and those in Seattle who knew him will not change. Eamon Kavanagh won't stop publicizing your attack or take Hyde's face off the news. He's not going to come within a hundred miles of you, I swear," I tell her.

My heart breaks because she's so distressed.

She grabs my shirt. "No one will ever catch him, will they? I'm never going to be able to sleep again. I'll always be looking over my shoulder . . . and what about that awful woman? Did they have any news about her?"

I look at Ray helplessly. "No, she seems to have gone underground—"

"Or someone is shielding her," Ray breaks in, his voice loud and his tone is bitter.

This only causes Ana to weep harder, along with bringing Taylor and Welch's theory into my mind - that somebody could be hiding Leila here in Seattle, and she's biding her time to strike again. The only question is who? Welch made contact with each of my former submissives and all they knew of Leila was what they'd seen in the news. Initially, Taylor had some of his men watching each of them in case they were lying, but Leila had never been seen around them. We've come to learn that most of my prior subs heard negative stories concerning Leila amongst those who participate in BDSM arrangements, and a few that had known her didn't like her. There is only one person who hasn't been asked about Leila, and that person is Elena Lincoln. She'd brought Leila to my attention and set up our initial interview. Taylor and Welch are both aware of this and have tried to reason with me to approach Elena about her, but I refuse to. The last thing Anastasia asked of me was to break all ties with Elena, and I did. It's for that sole reason that I haven't spoken with Elena since Ana was hurt. She's made no attempt to contact me in these past months, and I don't want to break my promise to Ana, even if she can't remember asking me to remove Elena from our lives. No, I stand firm to keep my distance with Elena Lincoln, and she's doing the same. Although . . . last night . . .

"Oh, darling, stop these tears. Christian, move so I can hold Ana." My mother's soothing voice breaks through my troublesome thoughts.

Looking around the room, I see my family, along with Kate and Ethan. None look worse for the wear after last night, well, except for Mia. I hadn't even heard them come in. Mom is holding Ana, stroking her back and murmuring something softly in her ear. I watch Ana slowly nod and wipe the tears from her cheeks.

"I'm not a circus animal, you guys," Ana says sarcastically, looking about them room.

Everyone plays off her unpleasant tone with nervous laughter and their eyes all dart between Ana and I. I shrug my shoulders, and Kate makes her way to Ana, flopping on the bed. Ana pulls herself from my mother's arms.

"Watch it, Kate! Jesus, you could hurt her," I snap.

Holy hell, I dislike this woman. She never seems to have regard for anyone but herself.

"God, Grey—" Kate begins.

"I'm fine, Christian! Kate didn't hurt me by sitting beside me. It's not like I've been physically injured," Ana snaps back at me, visibly surprising everyone in the room with her attitude.

"Down girl," Kate replies, pushing some of Ana's hair behind her ear. "Do you feel better? Grace told us it was one of those migraines or headache episodes. You scared the hell out of us."

"I feel tired and want to go home. God, I've got an IV and a catheter . . . for a headache," Ana exclaims quite loudly, once more taking us all aback. "Christian, get the nurse in here to take this crap out of me. I'm fine; I just want to get into my own bed."

"Ana, dear, they'll take care of all that once Dr. Berman checks you out. She'll need to know if those lab values improved," Mom tells her. She's using the tone of voice she would use to speak to me with during the years I wouldn't talk.

"Fine. I guess I have to stay in this bed until Berman feels like gracing us with her presence."

Ana's words and obvious annoyance are something none of us is used to experiencing. She must need to go back to sleep until the medication they gave her last night wears off.

"Hopefully, you won't have to wait much longer. Christian said he called her after you were admitted last night." While my mother speaks, she's giving me a reproachful look, probably for calling Dr. Berman in the middle of the night.

Ana only sighs; she's watching Ray pace the room like a caged lion.

"Taylor informed us that Hyde was spotted," Dad says.

I expect Ana to react, but she doesn't. Catching Kate's eyes, we both frown. Obviously, she's noticed Ana's odd behavior and attitude as well. Mia and Ethan are quietly sitting on the small vinyl sofa on the opposite side of the room. Mia is the only one who looks like she's hungover. She's resting her head on Ethan's shoulder and hasn't said a word.

"Yeah, he's headed east and the police don't think he'll return to Seattle. Did Taylor tell you they're scaling back their hunt for him?" Ray asks.

Dad nods and looks at him thoughtfully. "I know that you're . . . That we're all out for Hyde to be caught and brought to justice, but the police believe he's not an imminent threat since he's on the move, and that move is eastward. It's natural they're pulling back on finding him, no matter how frustrating that is to us all."

"Ana, you know that my dad will keep putting out articles in his papers, and will make sure a feature about Hyde is periodically on the local news. Christian, do you suppose we could get the story on some news outlets near the area where Hyde was spotted last?" Kate asks, looking hopeful.

I wonder if her positive attitude is just for her best friend's benefit?

"Kate, there's a nationwide APB on Jack Hyde. If he runs a red light in West Virginia, he'll be in handcuffs and back in Washington," I answer.

"See, Ana, they'll get him. Now you can rest easier at night knowing he's not in Seattle." Kate is rubbing Ana's arm and continues to talk in an upbeat and high-spirited way.

Anastasia pulls her arm away and shakes her head. "Please! Would you rest easier at night if you knew that Leila Williams was underground somewhere, waiting for the opportunity to kill you? I didn't think so," Ana replies. Her voice is very low, and she's not bothering to hide her ire.

Before any of us can respond, there's a knock on the door and Dr. Berman emerges with Nurse Nora on her heels. She's smiling. Dr. Berman, that is.

"Good morning, everyone. Ana, I see you came back to visit me. Although I enjoy your company, I'd rather you stay away from this place," Dr. Berman's says, her demeanor kind and calm.

Nurse Nora hands her Ana's chart. She quickly flips through a few pages.

"So . . . you told the emergency room doctor this headache was unlike the previous ones. What did you mean by that?" she asks Ana, who is perched up straight in the bed, a surly expression on her face.

Remind me to never allow another doctor to give her whatever medicine they administered to her last night. Fuck, it's like she's possessed and has two personalities.

"It was worse . . . It was more painful and I felt it coming on quicker than before. With the other ones, I knew the pain was coming, but not as quickly as this hit me, and nowhere near as painful. You know my vision has always been affected; this time it was literally lights out. It was worse in every aspect," Ana murmurs.

We all watch as Dr. Berman gives Ana a quick once over and sits in the chair Ray vacated.

"As I expected, you've checked out fine. When you began experiencing these episodes while you were hospitalized, we supposed they were stress related. They were nearly on a daily basis back then, but that was because you were processing the situation you woke up to, which was extremely stressful. If memory serves me correct, the last one you had was immediately after your discharge, and at Dr. Trevelyan's residence. Is that right?"

"Yes, Dr. Berman, the headache started as soon as we got Ana into my parent's home," I answer.

Dr. Berman's eyes never leave Ana's.

"I was asking Ana, Mr. Grey," she tells me.

Elliot clears his throat. Looking at him, I see he's holding back laughter. Fucker.

"That's right, Dr. Berman. But I've been under stress since then, and this hasn't happened. Don't you think that's strange?" Ana asks her.

"No," she simply answers. "And that's because while we think stress brings these headaches and blackouts on, it doesn't necessarily mean we're right. Did anything out of the ordinary occur last night? Something that you recall upsetting you?"

Ana twists her lips and glances at my mother apologetically before looking back to Dr. Berman.

"Well, I really didn't want to attend the party last night. I haven't been feeling well . . . I've been feeling out of sorts lately, and I just wanted to stay home and rest. Plus, the idea of such an event felt so overwhelming that I didn't think I was going to be able to handle it." Ana takes a peek at my mother, who is smiling at her. "I'm sorry, Grace."

"No need to be, dear. It's fine," answers Mom.

"OK, you were stressed out. That mystery has quickly been solved, but it doesn't really answer what's going on with your head, and Ana, I'll be honest . . . I'm sure we're never going to have an answer for this. I think the only guarantee I can give you is that these occurrences may stop happening - or they won't."

Dr. Berman sounds so matter-of-fact and nonchalant that I feel like strangling her.

"Excuse me, Dr. Berman," my mother begins. "Ana's scan was clean, correct?"

"Yes, everything looked fine. Along with the radiologist, I compared them to the one we did before Ana was discharged."

"I'll have to live with uncertainty," Ana says, sounding sad and resigned.

I take a good look at her face. Most of the make-up she was wearing last night came off by Nurse Nora's earlier wet washrag. Now, I can clearly see her face. She looks haggard and worn out. Hell, is this from last night, or has she looked like this since we returned from New York? I admit that I was being a dick and hiding away most of the week, but surely, I wouldn't have missed her looking this ill.

Dr. Berman nods as if that's any consolation. "I'm afraid so, Ana. I'm sorry that's the truth of the matter, but it is, and no one can do anything about it," she replies. "Now we need to talk about why you needed IV fluids to rehydrate you. Your chart says you denied being sick with any digestive issues. So, tell me what's been going on."

Dr. Berman's scanning the pages of Ana's chart again, her brow furrowed. She looks back at Ana expectantly, but Ana is mute. Everyone in the room has their eyes trained on my girl, and although I feel bad for her, I also want to know why she won't tell Dr. Berman anything.

"Ana? Are you still with me?" Dr. Berman asks her.

"Yes, I'm still with you."

Ana's eyes find mine and she shakes her head. What does that mean? She looks back at Berman.

"I'd like to speak with you privately, Dr. Berman," she tells her.

What? Why? I instantly panic at the possibilities of what could be wrong with Ana, and at the same time I'm fucking pissed off that she doesn't want me in the room with her. I want to goddamn know what's going on.

"Baby, you can talk to Dr. Berman in front of me," I say, squeezing her hand. I really don't want to let go of her hand.

Ana holds my gaze for a moment or two and slowly shakes her head again. Fucking stubborn woman.

"I know that I could, Christian, but I don't want to. It's nothing bad, I promise. I'd just like some privacy." Ana looks around the room. "I don't mean to offend any of you, but—"

Mom stands and cuts Ana off. "Sweet girl, we understand. We'll go to the cafeteria," she tells her, supremely pissing me off. "Come everyone. Let's give our favorite patient some time with her doctor."

My mother's eyes are on me. Great. I won't be winning this argument.

"Are you sure, baby?" I persist.

Ana exhales deeply. "I'm positive. Really, it's fine," she replies.

Ethan helps my hungover sister off of the sofa, and Kate reluctantly gets off the bed. She kisses Ana on the top of her head.

"We'll come back when you're ready, Ana Banana," she says, although I hear a tinge of apprehension in her voice. We lock eyes for a second and then she follows everyone, including Nurse Nora, as they exit the room.

I'm still at Ana's side, and she looks at me. Annoyance is all over her face. Dark circles are under her eyes and her eyelids look ready to close.

"Please?" she pleads.

I swallow and quickly kiss her cheek. "OK, baby." Looking back, I smile at her as I close the door. It feels like there's a fire pit burning my stomach.

Everyone has gathered outside Ana's door and no one looks like they know what they should do. Taylor and Sawyer step away to give us space.

Naturally, it's Kavanagh who opens her mouth first.

"What do you think that's about?" she asks, looking directly at me.

Like I fucking know.

"Why are you asking me? I'm as clueless as you are," I snap.

"Because this shit worries me, that's why!" she exclaims quietly. "You were in there, Grey. Ana doesn't act like that."

"Hush, the all of you. Perhaps Ana is just exhausted and wanted a bit of breathing room. Just because she wants to speak with her doctor alone doesn't mean something horrible is wrong. And please, keep your voices down - you're in a hospital," my mother admonishes us. "Ray, I'm sure you need some coffee after being up all night. There's a café on the first floor. Carrick, you two go down for a while," Mom continues. "Ethan, dear, go with them."

We look at each other perplexed. Dad nods, patting Ray on the back, and calls for Ethan to follow them. We watch them until they disappear, and then my mother gains our attention.

"There's a seating area just around the corner. How about we all go take a seat. I'd like to have a word with you all." Mom is talking while she's walking away. Not one of us utters a word, and I suddenly feel ten-years-old and about to get a lecture from my mother. Elliot is looking at me with a big grin on his face. He must feel the same way.

Mom sits, and we follow suit; each of us is clueless as to what she wants to talk to us about.

"Grace, do you want me to be here?" Kate asks.

She's probably thinking she isn't family, and after all, our mother did send her brother with Dad and Ray.

"Yes, I do" Mom replies firmly. "This concerns how all of you behaved last night. Now, I realize you were all drinking . . . too much, may I add. However, I did not appreciate being the mother of such rude children. Regardless if you are all adults, I will not tolerate such behavior."

Elliot raises an index finger in the air. "Mom, forgive me, but what in the hell are you talking about?"

Mom raises an eyebrow at him. "Mind your language Elliot Trevelyan–Grey! I am referring to the way you all treated Elena Lincoln last night. I watched as she greeted you, and was appalled at how rudely you treated her," she says. "I realize that you children, along with your father, don't particularly care for Elena, but she's my good friend, and I was mortified by your actions. Especially you, Elliot. Turning your back on a woman . . . I raised you to be a gentleman."

I'm inwardly counting to ten and have the urge to throw up. My dear mother declaring that Elena fucking Lincoln is her good friend rips me in half. How did I ever think it was OK that Elena was my mother's friend? Shame floods me.

Mia is the first to speak, scoffing before she does. "Alcohol didn't play a factor in our behavior towards Elena Lincoln, Mom. We just 'don't particularly care' for her, we don't like her. Never have and never will. She's given me the creeps since I was a kid, and in my opinion, only clings around you so our brother will feed money into her salons."

Mom's mouth drops open. "Mia, I have been friends with that woman since Elliot and Christian were young boys. Our friendship is not based on your brother doing business with her."

My mother stares at me as she says that last sentence.

"Listen, Mom, I'm sorry if I embarrassed you last night, but none of us like her. I can't emphasize enough how much we really, really don't like her. Maybe I was ruder than usual because I was hammered, but I can't stand the woman, and actually, I don't care if I offended her," says Elliot.

"There isn't any excuse for being rude, young man, and I won't have it. What am I going to say to Elena if she mentions how rude you all were to her last night?" asks our mother.

I'm ready to throw up.

Elliot shrugs. "Tell her we can't stand her."

He says it so bluntly that it's impossible not to laugh . . . Well . . . for me, Kate, and Mia not to laugh. Mom, on the hand, looks incredulous – and furious.

"I will reiterate that you will demonstrate the manners that I instilled in all of you." Mom points a finger at me and then Elliot. "And you, the two of you act like a gentleman, and treat all ladies with respect."

Kate is sitting behind Mom, and when our mother implies Elena is a lady, Kate makes a show of gagging herself with a finger down her throat. Mia is barely containing her laughter.

"Mommy, that woman isn't a lady. She's full of herself; she has always been a stuck-up snob. She also needs more color in her wardrobe," she manages to say between giggles.

"For God's sake . . . I can't believe I'm discussing manners with my adult children. Honestly, I can't. Your father is respectful towards her," Mom continues to argue.

Elliot's dragging both of his hands through his hair and I can tell he's barely holding his anger in. My brother may act childish at times, but he doesn't like being talked to as if he is a child.

"Mom, I'm not going to give you my opinion about the reason Dad treats your friend respectfully, but I'll do my best to never interact with Elena Lincoln and this won't be a problem again. But I've never been a hypocrite about her. Just ask your other son," Elliot says, nodding at me. "Christian knows what I think of him handing her money hand over fist, and doesn't give a shit how I treat her because he expects it. I'm sorry we offended you last night, and we hope no one else noticed, but I'm not going to apologize for turning my back on Elena."

I glare at Elliot and narrow my eyes at him. He couldn't give a flying fuck.

"Grace, I know you're addressing me as well, but I won't play nice about that woman either and trust me, she doesn't expect me to. Hitting on my father didn't please my mother, and it didn't please me either," Kate says.

I'm inwardly rolling my eyes. Elena was hitting on Kavanagh to quiet the gossip concerning the lack of men in her life. She is all too aware partaking in BDSM isn't something that would go over with the blue-bloods. It was all for show, Kate. All for show.

"Oh! And don't forget that Ana doesn't like her either, and that girl is a saint. Why doesn't Ana like her, anyway? No one ever told me." Mia says.

She's looking at my bland face. Shit.

"Are you talking about Christian's birthday? The dinner when Ana jumped up and left?" Kate asks.

Now she's staring at me, too.

"I'm assuming you're asking me," I address them both.

Mom is paying close attention.

"Yes, Christian. Ana never explained what happened that night to me," my mother says.

Elliot rolls his eyes and stands. "Maybe Ana is like us and feels the vibe that the woman is a witch. Who really cares about of this? Can't we just drop it and go get some coffee?" he asks.

I share my brother's sentiment, but the women in my life aren't going to let me off the hook so easily. I go with the excuse Ana gave Kate after that disastrous dinner party.

"Anastasia said Elena made a rude comment to her about her job— "

"That's true! The old hag . . . Sorry, Grace. Elena Lincoln was disparaging an editor's salary. Ana said your friend was also more than implying she was with Christian because he's a billionaire," Kate irritatingly interrupts me.

I'd love to throw a grenade at her.

Mom looks appalled, while Mia and Elliot look equally pissed off. What Ana told Kate was partially correct; Ana left out that she told me she refused to eat dinner beside a pedophile. She said that she couldn't sit at the table with Mom, knowing what her so called friend had done with her son for six years. Ana knew how wrong that was from the beginning, yet, I never gave it a second thought. I haven't had contact with her in months, but Elena is still causing discord in my life.

"Christian! Is that true?"

"Come on, Mom. Let's just drop this. We don't like Elena, we were rude last night, and now you've properly chastised us. Can we drop it?" I ask, doing my best to clamp off the direction this discussion is taking.

"Absolutely not. You should have told me that Elena made such insulting remarks to Ana. She knows Ana is like one of my children and has never said an unkind word about her. Elena always inquired about Ana while she was in the hospital, too. She still asks about her from time to time," Mom replies.

I nod, acquiescing. "Duly noted."

Our mother frowns as she looks around at all of us. "I'm dropping this, but I stand by what I said. I'm dumbfounded that Elena would be so catty to Ana, but I'll let this subject drop . . . for now. I'd like to speak with Christian alone, though. The three of you should either see if Dr. Berman is still with Ana or go get some coffee," she says.

Holy fuck. What's this about?

After they scuttle away, Mom moves to the chair right next to mine. She gazes at me for a few moments looking very serious.

"Christian, I expect you to be honest with me," she begins.

"About what?"

Mom sighs. "At the time, I didn't bring this up because Ana was in the hospital. I've kept my nose out of your business affairs with Elena and I appreciate how you helped her get back on her feet after Linc left her so abruptly, partnering with her when we all know GEH doesn't stick your money in salon chains. So why did you end your partnership with her?"

What a loaded question.

"I gifted my shares to her – I did her a favor. Why? What has Elena told you?"

I'm feeling very uneasy here. I don't know where this is going.

"Well, naturally, she didn't mention it right away since it was just after Ana's attack. I was still surprised. It was only months before that you and Elena were at the house discussing opening a new salon, and suddenly, you've withdrawn your financial help. Mia and Elliot can't stomach her at all, but you've always been the exception, which leads me to wonder if the two of you had a falling out."

"You didn't say what Elena told you," I say in my attempt to find out what lie I need to go along with.

Mom stares at me; she looks thoroughly annoyed. She knows all too well what I'm doing.

"Christian, don't play games with your mother. Elena told me that you surprised her by signing your part of the chain over to her. She expressed concern by the action; she said you didn't even contact her to let her know you were going to do so. After talking it over, we agreed Ana was the only thing on your mind at the time, and that's why you didn't contact her. However, Elena said the paperwork had been drawn up and signed prior to Ana being hurt. I know that I'm prying Christian, but what happened?"

Fucking Elena just had to run her mouth to my mother. But I suppose it would have eventually come out another way. Whine to my mother and then ask about Anastasia. Bravo, Elena.

"I took stock in our partnership and found that I wanted out of it. Business wise, it was pretty cut and dry. Actually, it was a decision that Ros had been championing for a long time."

Mom raises an eyebrow.

"Business wise. What about private wise? Not only did I watch your siblings and Katherine disrespect Elena last night, I noted that you didn't even stand when she approached, and Christian, if anything, you're the consummate gentleman. Don't dance around my question – what happened between you and Elena?"

OK, Mom, she started fucking and beating the shit out of me the week after my fifteenth birthday. Does that answer your question? Your good friend fucked your son for six years, and he never saw that having her remain in your life was despicable. Is that enough information?

"Mom—"

"Christian," she counters.

If I give my mother some grain of truth and it causes her to bring it up to Elena, I know it will piss Elena off, but she would never out the relationship we had. She wouldn't dare expose herself. I don't give a fuck if I piss her off.

"My birthday party wasn't the first time that Elena was rude to Ana. In fact, it occurred several times, and I never . . . I didn't defend Ana properly. She believed that I always made excuses for Elena's behavior . . . The main excuse was that I was in business with her, along with her being your friend. As I said, I took a look at what was going on and ended my partnership with Elena," I say, all the while watching my mother's expression morph into anger. "Truthfully, even if Ana hadn't been hurt, I still wouldn't have discussed ending business with her. I don't respect her, and I don't like to do business with people that I don't respect. That lack of respect is why I didn't, and will not, stand up to greet Elena if, and when, I ever see her again."

My mom gasps. "Son, why didn't you or Ana ever come to me with this? I wouldn't have ever allowed Elena in my home knowing she was treating Ana so horribly. I know she can be brash, but how can anyone not like Ana?"

Another loaded question that I don't want to go near.

"Jealousy, perhaps? An older woman doesn't like a beautiful younger woman? I'm not expert on the female mind, Mom."

"True, true. Still, I find it so bizarre. Especially since I've never heard Elena say a bad word about Ana, and she's inquired about her health and recovery."

I smirk. "Maybe she only asks because she's nosy," I answer.

Mom throws me a dirty look. "Christian," she scolds me.

At the exact moment that my mother opens her mouth to say more, we both spot Nurse Nora walking by us, pushing a laptop on some fucking rolling device. She enters Ana's room.

"What in the hell was that?" I ask my mother.

"Hospitals use modern technology, too, Christian. The nurses use the laptops for various things; they can chart their patients care, medications, and access various tests, look up lab results. It's not only efficient, it's easier to complete since the laptop is made portable. The hospital is about to do away with all paper charting,"

"This is the first time she's ever taken that thing in Ana's room. Why did she take that in there?"

Mom sighs. "Christian, you sound like you're panicking. Calm down, dear. She's probably going to take Ana's vital signs and chart them in the laptop or show something to Dr. Berman," she answers.

"I'm not panicking. I just want to know what's going on."

"No, you just want to control everything and be the first one in the know. Now, I'm going to search for our family. Do you want to come along?"

I shake my head; my mother quietly laughs.

"Then take a seat and wait to pounce on the first poor soul that leaves Ana's room."

I'm already outside of Ana's door before my mother finishes. Taylor and Sawyer take a step away to allow me to enter, but I shake my head. Ana asked me to leave, and I refuse to just barge back into the room – for now, anyway.

"Do you need anything, sir?" asks Taylor.

From the look of him, he doesn't appear as though he's been up all night. I'm sure I look like hell, and here Taylor and Sawyer stand, not a wrinkle in their dark suits.

"No, I'm good. I'm just sick of waiting . . . When Miss Steele comes home, you need to get your team together so we can make some adjustments considering this new intel on Hyde."

"Sir." Succinct and doesn't ask any questions– just like I expect of him.

Leaning against the wall, I'm digging my fingers into my eyes and hoping to hear a single noise coming from Ana's room. It's only crickets. And now fucking Elena's existence is about to pose a problem in my life. I know Mom will confront her about Ana, which in return, will undoubtedly cause Elena to finally try to contact me. I've been lucky thus far when it comes to that woman, but now, I'm sure that luck has just run out.

What if these shit episodes Ana is experiencing are stress related, and seeing Elena last night set this one off subconsciously? I've chewed on that theory since it happened. I was afraid Elena would spark something in Ana's mind the second I saw her approaching us. Up until now, I haven't considered Elena a threat to Ana's memory re-surfacing; I haven't thought of Elena at all. What the fuck am I going to do if she rears her presence in my life again? Yeah, I was never able to tell Ana I was done with Elena before she lost her memory - but I did get rid of her - and even though Ana isn't aware of that fact- I am. I won't break my promise to Ana. Fuck, Elena. She'll be kept ten miles away from Anastasia.

I hear Kate before I see my siblings walking in front of her and Ethan, who looks like a lost dog.

"Is the doctor still with Ana?" Kate asks.

"Don't you think I'd be in her room if she wasn't?" I retort.

She tosses her hair back and rolls her eyes. Elliot must sense that my impatience and irritation is about to be unleashed on his girlfriend because he puts his arm around her waist and pulls her to his side.

"Did you guys hear the girl fight at the nurse's station? Hell . . . I thought I was going to see a nurse on nurse smack down," Elliot says, a huge grin on his face, one that disappears when Kate hits him on the back of his head.

"No . . . Taylor, should one of your guys check it out? I don't want any fuck up's concerning Miss Steele's safety," I reply.

"Jesus, Christian, it was only a couple of nurse's arguing. It wasn't about Ana. Chill." El throws back the last of his coffee and tosses it in the nearest trash can. "One of those nurses was hot."

And . . . he earns himself another hit on the back of his head from Kate.

"El, you didn't see her face; her back was to us. You don't know that she was hot," Kate snaps.

"I couldn't see what her face looks like, but her ass was tight in those blue scrubs." He moves out of Kate's reach so she can't hit him this time.

"Well, the nurse should have just shown the woman her ID badge. Things wouldn't have gotten so heated if the nurse would have just shown it," Mia pipes in.

I look over at Taylor and see the scowl on his face.

"One of the women didn't have any ID on her?" he asks Mia.

"No. Well, I don't know. That's what they were arguing about until the one in the blue scrubs took off," she replies.

"Miss Grey, can you describe what the woman in the blue scrubs looks like?" Taylor continues.

"I'll tell you what she looks like, Jason," Elliot starts. "She has a hot little body—"

"For fuck's sake, Elliot. Quit talking about how hot she is and tell us what she looks like," I exclaim.

"Christian, we could only see her back. She had on blue hospital scrubs, and her hair was in a French braid. She had the prettiest blonde highlights, didn't she Kate?" Mia replies.

It's impossible for my sister to stay on track about anything. She's got to have adult ADD, and Ethan Kavanagh must have the patience of a saint to be able to put up with her.

"Mia, I really wasn't paying attention, but I suppose so," answers Kate, who is still throwing daggers at my idiot brother.

"They really looked great with her brown hair," Mia counters, and before I can make a move to head down the hall, Taylor is already ordering Sawyer to the nurse's station.

"None of you saw her face? Her profile?" Taylor barks loudly, which causes Mia to jump.

"No, no. Why? What's the matter?" she whines at him.

"Mother fucker, she wouldn't dare show up here, would she?" Elliot asks.

Now, he gets it.

"Taylor, get fucking Ryan on this. Now!" I'm running my hands through my hair at a furious pace. "Elliot, take Kate and Mia to where we were all sitting earlier. Ethan go with them."

Against the loud protests of Kate, Elliot leads her and Mia down the hall to the alcove where we were all sitting. Per usual, Ethan trails behind. I hear Mia and Kate questioning Elliot at a rapid rate, while Ethan tries his best to quiet them both.

Turning, I see that Taylor is on his cell informing one of the guys that Leila Williams may be in the hospital, and has actually made it onto Ana's floor. I'm furious beyond reason; I'm shaking from anger.

If that goddamned bitch . . .

Luke comes jogging back down the hall and is shaking his head. He looks mad as hell.

"I questioned each of the nurses, including the charge nurse. She was arguing with the woman in question. Each nurse I spoke to work this unit exclusively, so they spotted a new face right away. The charge nurse asked who she was. The woman, who didn't realize she was speaking with the nurse in charge, claimed she was a new nurse on the unit. Once challenged, the charge nurse told me she ran off. Says she took the stairwell. I called Ryan and told him to make his way there."

"I know. He didn't see her," Taylor replies while texting someone.

"Was it her?" I ask. The words come out despite my clenched jaws.

Taylor and I stare at Sawyer. His expression is grim. He nods.

"Yes. I showed her picture to all of the nurses who encountered her. They positively identified her," he replies.

"Fuck!" I yell, roughly pushing a set of chairs across the floor. "How in the hell did that bitch know Ana was here?"

"She's stalking her, sir," Taylor replies matter-of-factly. "I've alerted the PD, and I've called in Prescott, along with several more guys. But my guess is that it's in vain . . . You know once the barn door is already open— "

"Yes, Taylor, I fucking know! Mother fucker. That bitch is either batshit crazy or fucking stupid. Since she's obviously watching Ana's every move, she fucking well knows that she's surrounded by security. Did the bitch think we wouldn't notice her?"

My voice has grown very loud, along with my blood pressure. I'm going to strangle the life out of that skinny bitch.

"I don't recall her as being crazy, sir. Quiet, yes. Crazy, no," Taylor answers me. "Luke, stand to watch down the hallway. I don't think Williams will be back up here, but since she's pulled this stupid shit, I'm not putting anything past her."

Elliot has moved from behind the corner and is staring at me with his eyebrows raised. I know that he's asking me if it was Leila. I nod yes, and he mouths, "What the fuck?" at me. I can only shake my head as I watch the fury spread across his face. Elliot takes a few deep breaths before heading back to the others.

Ten or so minutes later, Taylor and I are still in deep discussion over how Leila isn't being spotted following Ana. How has she evaded Parson? He's been trailing Sawyer and Prescott's every move when they're with Ana, to see if he can catch sight of Leila following them. It looks like that plan didn't work out the way we had hoped.

"Google Alerts."

Taylor and I snap our heads towards the person that loudly whispered behind us.

Kate.

"What?" I grunt.

Taylor rubs his forehead and swears under his breath.

"Miss Kavanagh, you might be right," he mumbles, grimacing.

My head swivels between the two of them. I'm clueless.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Kate huffs. "Grey, I've been trying to figure out the same thing that you two are; how did Leila Williams know Ana was in the hospital? Well, for some reason, people think you're interesting, and they set you as one of their Google Alerts. So, every time Seattle's mogul does anything remotely newsworthy, which I think is never, Google alerts the masses. I'd bet your money that this loon has a Google Alert set for you, and when the press caught wind of your girlfriend leaving last night's party in an ambulance, Google began to buzz, and she saw it." Kate looks too pleased with herself.

"Taylor?" I ask, already knowing his answer from the look on his face.

"I agree that it's a good possibility, sir. It makes perfect sense. After all, it's a given the majority of the guests at last night's party ran their mouth about what happened to Miss Steele. Once word got out, it spread like wildfire, and the press caught wind of it."

"Well, someone in the emergency department must have talked or Leila wouldn't have known what unit Ana was in. Did every goddamned fuck down there sign an NDA so they couldn't talk?"

"Christian, there's a law called HIPPA. Healthcare workers are strictly held to that law and aren't allowed to break the confidentiality of a patient. You and your NDA's don't trump HIPPA," Kate replies.

She acts like I'm the dumbest fuck on the planet.

"I'm sure that housekeepers and the like aren't held to the same standard, Kate."

"Shit, Christian, does it really matter? No, it doesn't. The only thing that matters is that I walked right by the cunt who is out to kill my best friend. Study some more on—"

The door to Ana's hospital room opens at that very moment, and Nurse Nora, along with her rolling contraption exits, closing the door behind her.

"How's Miss Steele?" Kate asks, beating me to the punch.

"You'll have to take that up with Dr. Berman or Miss Steele," she replies.

Her response hits me with uncertainty and fear.

"Does that mean that something's wrong?" I ask, or rather, exclaim loudly.

Nurse Nora glares at me. "I can't disclose information concerning my patients unless instructed otherwise."

With those parting words, the hag pushes her rolling whatever the fuck you call it, back down the hall.

"Such a pleasant woman, isn't she?" Kate asks sarcastically.

I can't take any more shit. I'm ready to put my hand through a wall due to the overwhelming shit storm this day has become. I don't know what is going on with Anastasia, and I fucking need to see her. I need to see if she really is OK.

"Fuck it . . . I'm going in there." My words escape through gritted teeth.

"Christian, no!" Kate reaches to grab my arm, but I quickly move so she can't touch me.

It takes me two strides to reach the door; I begin to open it slowly. The words I can just barely hear cause me to stop when the door is opened just a crack. The vehemence in which they're spoken, their meaning, and the fact that they're coming out of Anastasia's mouth cause my body to freeze.

". . . . I said no . . . You can't make me."

"Ana, listen to reason. You're tired and were given a strong dosage of Dilaudid last night. Sleep this off, and with a clear head—"

"Why did they even run that test? I didn't ask them to do that . . . I wasn't here for that."

"Doctors order them for a woman of childbearing age who is going to have X-ray's, CT scans, and the like, to rule out pregnancy. Some routinely order the test, others just ask the woman."

"Oh, God! This is the last thing that I need . . . It's the last thing that I want! I'm not telling him. He'll feel the exact same way as I do."

"Ana, just calm do—"

"I am so sick of people telling me to calm down! I don't need to calm down, Dr. Berman."

"Ana, you are in shock."

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Yes . . . How you're feeling is natural—"

"Oh, here we go . . . 'Ana, your feelings are natural considering what you've been through.'"

"I'll go and tell everyone that you need to rest, OK? Get some sleep, and after you wake up, we can discuss this further."

"I don't need to sleep on this. I don't want it. Christian won't either, so there's no need in telling him. He doesn't ever have to know, and I know you can't tell him."

"Ana—"

"How can you be sure?"

"I told you. They ran a serum hCG test, Ana, and it was positive."

"I took that damn shot, and we waited, so the test has to be wrong."

"Why do you think I told Nora to have them run it again?" It's not wrong, and according to the result, you got pregnant when the shot should have kicked in. Unfortunately, your shot must have come from a bad batch."

"That sounds like my luck . . . I don't want it. I'm not telling him . . . If I do, he might try to make me go through with it like a 'good girl' . . . I'm not anyone's anything, much less a 'good girl,' and I don't have to keep a pregnancy I'm not ready for. I'm only twenty-two, for God's sake! I'm already a basket case . . . I'm sure as hell not going to be his 'good girl' who. . ."

I'm frozen in place like a statue made of marble, numb and shocked to my very core. This can't be real. It isn't happening and isn't real. My mind keeps stuttering the words that Ana is pregnant. Anastasia is fucking pregnant. I got her pregnant because a damn birth control shot was ineffective. But what my mind is also stuttering about is that Ana, a young woman who has always wanted children, is now adamant about not keeping this pregnancy, along with not telling me about it. My Ana, this woman, and her mind are all so – not Anastasia.

She keeps repeating she won't be a good girl. His good girl? Oh, fuck . . . Ana has remembered when I would tell her she was a good girl during scenes. Jesus Christ. When did she remember that? She wants to hide things from me – my Ana never would – and I don't know what all she's kept from me. Like I have room to be angry over it if she has. I'm such a fucking hypocrite.

Christ, Anastasia's pregnant. She's pregnant and is so against keeping the child, that she wants to keep it a secret from me.

Secrets. My secrets. Her secrets.

A child.

Fuck, I can't breathe.

I squeeze my eyes shut and consider whether or not to enter the room. I can walk in and pretend that I didn't overhear their conversation. I can pretend that I don't know Ana has recalled me telling her she was a good girl when she would please me during a scene. One of the many scenes she hated herself for doing. The scenes that sickened her. Is that why she doesn't want to tell me she's pregnant? Because she's only remembered the time she was trying to be my sub and was terrified of me? Ana doesn't want to have a child with that monster? God, if she remembered that, please let her also remember how we reconciled, how I changed – how much I love her.

This can only mean that Ana's only recalled the piece of shit I was, and it has to be the reason she hasn't told me she's remembered and hasn't told anyone else.

I stand in place, not knowing what to do; I don't know what I want to do. Do I want to be a father? No. Do I want my twenty-two-year old girlfriend to be a mother? No, and I would feel that way even if she was in her right mind. She's too young. But God, it hurts to know Ana would abort my child without telling me she is pregnant. Oh, fuck me; I'm coming apart at the seams.

But before I'm allowed to decide what I want to do, Katherine goddamned Kavanagh fucking does it for me.

"Jesus, Grey. If you're going in, then I'm coming with you. Move it," she exclaims, pushing the door wide open.

My eyes instantly meet Ana's and hold their gaze. Growing wide, they tell me how distraught she is, but I also see stubborn determination. The latter is far worse. She's even paler than before; I think her lips have even lost their color. The longer we gaze at one another, I watch the truth wash over Ana. She's aware that I heard the conversation between her and Dr. Berman. Her cheeks flush, yet she never looks away. The intensity flowing off of her causes me to look away first; I watch Kate's tall figure march into Ana's room like she owns it.

"So, what's the verdict, doc? Is my bestie going to live or what?" she asks in a joking manner, then practically jumps onto Ana's bed.

Dr. Berman doesn't answer Kate. She's looking at Anastasia, whose gaze I can feel on the side of my face. Kate must feel the tension in the room as she looks at the three of us with a crinkled forehead and narrowed eyes. The room is still and silent for several moments before Ana finally speaks, breaking the calm.

"Dr. Berman, will you and Kate leave the room, please? I need to speak with Christian." Ana's voice is soft, yet strong.

Neither say anything, but stand and quietly leave the room. Kate throws us a confused parting glance before closing the door.

I inhale deeply, walking to the chair beside her bed and sit down. Instinctively, I swallow, and dare to meet her gaze. It's unfaltering.

I don't know what either of us is about to say to the other; I do know that this new life we've been making together has changed forever.

I also know that there's a possibility that the new life we've been making together has already ended.

* * *

I threw the entire kitchen sink into this chapter. Now I can start killing character's off. I'm kidding. Maybe.


	12. Chapter 12

Please read this before you begin reading the chapter. It's very important to me that, even if it's only one of you ladies, I caution you about this chapter. I know that there is at least one woman who is reading this story that has been faced with the difficult decisions that an unplanned pregnancy presents them. That being said, if reading about abortion is going to upset you and bring up sensitive and painful emotions, I don't want you to read the chapter. I'd feel awful knowing what I've written has caused a woman distress or triggered bad feelings. If the topic is too much, along with the way I've written about it being too much, PLEASE don't read it. PM me and I'll sum the chapter up in 3 sentences. I also know that many ladies have passionate feelings about abortion, regardless if it's touched them personally. I respect that 100%, just don't take the chapter to mean more than it is: it's only something I made up to cause chaos in a fictional story. It's not me declaring any opinion that's going to have some guest readers throwing rocks at me.

* * *

Chapter 12 picks up where the previous chapter ended. I only own the mistakes you'll find in the chapter.

* * *

~ _Chapter_ _Twelve_ ~

 _Christian_

My heart thuds rapidly, and my breath is stuck in my throat. I feel Ana's eyes on my face, but I refuse to meet her gaze. I stare ahead, seeing nothing. She doesn't ask what I'm thinking. I suppose that means she's just as nervous as I am.

Anastasia pats on the bed, and I immediately sit on it; I face her, blood racing through my veins. I'm hardly aware of my surroundings as a loud rushing noise fills the space between my ears. My stoical behavior betrays me. I'm terrified of the words that may fall from the lips of the woman that I love.

From day one, Ana has owned me, whether I admitted it to myself or not. The first time I saw those powder blue eyes, I have been consumed with this woman; I have viscerally craved her mind, body, and soul. My life began when Anastasia fell into my dismal world, and it will end if she has only remembered the worst parts of me and throws me to the wayside. That nightmare, that life-ending scenario, cannot occur. We can't end this way. I won't allow it because living would no longer be an option for me. I know placing this burden on her slight shoulders must be too heavy to bear; I'm too selfish to remove it.

Although I hardly deserve it, please, God, if Ana has only recalled the monster that she was terrified of, please, please, allow there to be a day when she remembers that I love her. That we loved one another once, that we were dedicated to one another and we would have spent our lives together. Please, God. Please.

And now I need to know the word that defines being sucker punched in your heart because Ana, this beautiful and wonderful woman is pregnant – and I'm in mother fucking shock.

Ana is trembling, so without speaking, I tuck her bedcovers snugly around her. The smallest of smiles turn up the corners of her dry lips, and though she doesn't speak, I can see defiance in her eyes. My parched throat issues no sound of its own. I'm lost; I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say.

Opening her mouth to speak, Ana shuts it and swallows hard. She frowns at me, and I believe she's on the verge of tears. I observe her closely, well aware that the next moments will form the basis for the rest of my life or leave it an empty abyss.

After this, we can't turn back.

"Anastasia, what. . ." I can't form a question, though my mind is frantically searching for one, and I bite my tongue.

She raises herself with an effort. "How much did you hear?" Her whisper bears a hint of a rasp, and I want to fetch her a drink of water, however, I don't move.

Her blue eyes command my attention, and I feel like wringing my hands together. I try to put on my CEO face, but I'm not sure if it's working. She frowns again. I can't stop from staring at her intently, trying to read her - Grey, you measure people up for a living, for fuck's sake. But I never know what Ana's thinking and she's the most unpredictable person that I've ever known.

"I don't know . . ." My words trail away numbly. I can't drag my eyes off of her.

Ana's face doesn't bear a hint of humor, and I don't see how that can bode well for me. She doesn't say anything, yet I feel her slipping away from me.

"What are you thinking?" she asks softly.

My eyes tighten. "Were you really going to keep this pregnancy from me?"

She raises one eyebrow, her lips a thin line. Ana's eyes close - it's like she doesn't want to see me.

God, I'm terrified.

"I'm sorry. More than I can tell you," she replies.

Her eyes open and she's as still as a cat ready to pounce. Why in the fuck is she sorry?

"For what?" I ask tentatively. My eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"Because of what you heard."

I take her hand and gently squeeze it. I'm on guard, and I think Ana sees that. Hell, I know she does. She's always seen right through me. That's more proof that we're soul mates – fate brought us together. Christian Trevelyan-Grey, the unlovable sadist, thrown together with Anastasia Steele, the most loving and decent young woman in the world. Kismet.

"Why?"

She's quiet for a long while, and I'm ready to jump out the window. We have so much to discuss, and I don't know where to begin. I thought – Well, I don't know what I thought.

"I'm sure I sounded like a heartless bitch."

I start to protest, but she puts two fingers over my lips before I can say anything.

"I feel like a heartless bitch. All I've been concerned with is how miserable that I've been feeling." Ana rubs her forehead. "I never considered . . . this a possibility – even when I was throwing my guts up."

"This?" I ask, not moving a muscle. "Are you referring to the current situation or our baby?" My voice is cold as winter snow. For some reason, her words are pissing me off. Her words are grating on me.

Ana looks at me warily. "This unplanned pregnancy. Quit pretending you want to jump for joy over this, Christian."

"I'm not, but I haven't had enough time to feel anything. Stunned, perhaps. I've known about this pregnancy for all of five seconds."

She laughs half-heartedly and shakes her head.

"In my opinion, any man whose told he's to be a father would be immediately ecstatic," she retorts.

I sigh deeply and swallow my irritation. Grey, she's sick and exhausted – cut her some slack. She isn't behaving like herself. You know you don't think she's herself.

"I doubt that, but at least my mind didn't immediately reach for having our baby aborted," I snap at her.

Now I'm shaking my head, trying to reorient myself. Ana's words continue to sting me.

Anastasia stiffens and leans away, pulling her hand from mine.

"Well, everyone doesn't have the genius mind that Christian Grey does," she mumbles sarcastically. "The man who makes people feel insignificant and ignorant."

Ignoring her rejection and surly attitude, I raise a hand and stroke her cheek.

"Stop with that shit, Ana. I didn't imply that . . . Have I ever made you feel that way?"

She stares at me like I'm crazy – cheeks blazing red.

"You really have to ask? Christian, you make everyone feel that way. I've often wondered if you take pleasure doing so."

I drop my hand. For the first time in a long while, I feel like punishing Ana. I feel that I have every fucking right to do so.

"I'll ignore that remark, Anastasia. I know that you're tired, sick, and have been given strong medication." My tone full of every ounce of anger that I feel. "Let's discuss the matter at hand."

I'm trying to restrain the Dominant that's escaping from my mouth. I'm fighting his urges. Fighting them like hell.

"Fine. You're a potential father," Ana practically growls.

Potential? Ana is really considering aborting our baby. That fact causes my mind to fly around in a frenzy of confusing emotions. I've never thought about being a father. The risk of passing my fucked-up genes on to an innocent child would be cruel, yet, I'm fighting mist that's behind my eyes. I quickly glance around the room, and it's Ana's hand, taking my own that draws me back to her. She looks calm and concerned. I nearly pull my hand away.

"I know you don't want to be a father, Christian," she begins. "I saw how you paled last night when Kate was going on about having children, and you've never expressed an interest in starting a family with me. I'm—"

"No, I haven't . . . and neither have you, outright anyway. You've never kept your desire to one day becoming a mother a secret, and I know that your staunchly pro-choice, but Ana . . . I don't understand." I quickly interrupt what I'm sure was an apology.

"Did you hear Dr. Berman say the birth control must have failed?" Her voice is barely audible.

She looks awfully pale and sickly. It's obvious that she's afraid of me going nuts at any moment. Once again, I feel guilty.

I nod. "Yes, I heard. Ana, I would never think you would get pregnant on purpose. If that's what you're thinking, please stop. I'm not angry with you, but I am confused – surprised – by your reaction. Did you really mean it when you said that you'd keep this from me?" I hear the ragged emotion my voice contains.

My question is met with her slowly shaking her head. She looks so sad, and I can't help but believe I'm to blame. Did she recall what a hard-hearted bastard that I was, and is now scared of me?

"No. But I'm pregnant, and it wasn't planned, and I'm sure once you have time to think about it, you aren't going to want a baby. You've never told me you wanted children, Christian . . . In fact, you look faint when parenthood is mentioned in your presence." Ana sits up, cross legged in the bed, wincing as she does so.

"What's wrong? Are you in pain?" I ask, alarmed.

"No, this stupid catheter. . . pulled when I moved."

"Don't sit that way. It could damage—"

"Christian, I hardly think this irritating tube is going to permanently damage my body."

There's a brief silence. I draw in a breath and blow it out slowly, drawing in another. Get this situation steady, Grey. She's got you blindsided and off kilter.

"I hate to see you uncomfortable, Ana." I utter mindlessly. "Do you want to continue?"

She looks anxious, but nods.

"I'm twenty-two, and you shut me down whenever I say that I want to go back to work; you tell me that I'm not physically strong enough. Do you think I'm physically strong enough to have a baby?" she asks apprehensively.

Her voice cracks on the last word and without warning, tears overwhelm her eyes and run down her face. I pull her into my arms, probably rougher than I should, and wipe away the tears on her cheeks.

"Anastasia," I say, my previous ire forgotten. "Tell me what's wrong. Tell me what to do."

I'm desperate here; I'm floundering. Ana moves out of my embrace.

"Christian, I don't . . . After Dr. Berman told me . . . Like you, I didn't have the advantage of time so that I could really think. I tuned her out the longer she talked, debating the matter – a life that an unplanned pregnancy presented. My fear over your reaction made the idea of simply causing this problem to disappear seem plausible.

I feel myself glaring at her, the thought of Anastasia lying to me, keeping secrets from me, is rousing my unrestrained anger again. Not anger over her being pregnant, but for behavior so unlike her. I know this woman inside and out, and she doesn't have an unloving bone in her beautiful body. Yet, at the moment, she sounds so cold.

"You mean it would have allowed you to keep a huge secret from me, and one that gave you the power to decide whether our child would live or not," I snap at her.

She surprises me by lifting her chin defiantly. Ana's oozing stubborn resolve.

"It's an embryo, not a child," she retorts, and all of the air in my lungs collapse.

"Ana, what in the hell are you thinking? Jesus Christ, I'm all for a woman having control over her own body, but you are acting so callous about this. Do you really believe it would have been all right for you to keep this from me? I might not be ready for fatherhood, but, fuck me, I think I deserve to know if I've impregnated you." My voice is an octave below shouting.

The fact that I'm the one being somewhat calm and clear headed over Anastasia being pregnant is ridiculously amazing. I should be going out of my mind and losing my shit, and Ana should be the one talking me off of the ledge. My fucked actions and worries are bad enough, but this is a fresh hell. But I'm determined to put out this proverbial fire.

At least she has the decency to look contrite. Tears are once again running down her cheeks, and she wipes the twin trails away swiftly. I don't for a second doubt that she's frightened out of her mind. Her, what I believe, mixed up mind.

Everything around us is an absolute disaster.

"You're right," she starts, sniffling loudly. "I wouldn't . . . I couldn't do that, regardless of how you felt." She steadily gazes at me. "How do you feel?" she softly whispers.

My mind goes blank. I know I feel the possibility of being duped shocking, but what am I feeling? Terror. Complete and utter terror, and Ana has to see it wash my face.

"I knew it. This is much too soon. You won't be able to handle this. I know that Christian Grey can't handle anything that isn't planned."

Looking at the sorrow and confusion on this wisp of a woman's face, I crumble inside, but I say nothing. My thoughts are flying around, coming up with different ways this could play out. A baby is growing inside of Ana's body – our baby. Two sets of DNA that have combined to create a tiny person that we will be responsible for. A baby that will bind us together for the rest of our lives.

A sudden realization hits me. Ana promised me she'd never leave me, and she'd surely never leave if we had a child.

But can I do this? Am I even capable of being a father? I'm not like Carrick or Ray, both strong examples of what a father should be – I'm a goddamned train wreck. Would Anastasia want to get married? Yes, I think she would - I know she loves me enough to marry me. Ana has shared her desire to have a family; she's said she wants a stable family since she didn't have one. Fuck knows I'm not stable, here I am, beginning to think that this pregnancy is working in my favor. I wouldn't have to spend every day worrying if Ana's memory comes back, causing her to leave me. I'm still going crazy to know what she's possibly recalled.

Stable or not, Ana loves me, she's always taken me as I am – as I was. She would marry me, and a ring, along with our child, would bind us together. Even if she remembered what a sick fuck I was to her, she wouldn't leave me if we have a child; Ana also wouldn't break a wedding vow. I know this woman – she wouldn't.

Embracing her again, I burrow my face in her shoulder. Her neck is wet from tears.

"No, I don't usually do unplanned, but this is different. I'm scared fucking shitless, I won't deny that . . . but . . . Shit, I don't even know if I can be a good father, but we both know that having an abortion isn't really an option for you." I squeeze her closer to me. "Anastasia, I know it's your body and you have the right to choose when and if you become a mother, but when this news sinks in, you're going to want to keep this child," I breathe into her skin. "I'm positive you already do."

Ana's body begins to shake as she's started to weep again. She throws her arms around my neck, and my eyes go to her IV tubing. I wince as it pulls taut.

"Ana, your IV. You're going to pull it out if you don't drop your arm, baby."

"Oh," she whispers, dropping the offending arm.

"Baby, lay back and rest, and stop the tears. Go on, relax."

I grab a box of tissues off her bedside table and wipe the tears and snot from her face. Ana lets me tuck her in and I scoot closer to her. My heart is breaking as I study her.

"Better?"

She nods and swallows hard. "Yes, thank you. I'm sorry for being ... .whatever it is that I am these days. I know everyone looks at me like I'm a bomb that's about to explode," she replies. "I'm so confused."

"Ana, honestly, no one expects anything of you, I promise."

Her glazed, watery blue eyes search mine and she sighs.

"I hope so . . . I can't help how I feel, or the unpredictable ways I'm behaving. Maybe it's hormones or the anti-depressant I'm taking."

My ears perk up - shit. "Jesus, what if all of the medication you've been on has hurt the baby?" I begin to panic; my words are proof that I am. I try to rein it in.

This time, it's Ana who tries to calm me. She grabs the hand that was about to run through my hair. Her breathing has slightly slowed.

"Christian, stop. Can't we worry about one thing at a time? We'll have to go see Dr. Greene, regardless."

"Regardless?"

Ana's eyes move around the room before she looks back at me. I try to read her expression, but can't. She's staring straight into my eyes – I don't think she even blinks.

"I think we need to let the shock wear off before any decisions are made. About continuing the pregnancy, I mean."

"Fucking Christ. Didn't we resolve that?" I exclaim loudly, throwing my arms out.

Ana raises her chin and I watch as body slightly tenses.

"Don't yell at me, and I thought we decided to take some time to think about this. I didn't agree to anything."

I scrub my face, cursing under my breath. I don't think we had the same conversation.

"Fine," I grit through my clenched teeth. "Say what you like, Anastasia, but we both know you won't end this pregnancy."

Her attitude doesn't change and only serves to stoke my anger. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly.

"I don't want to fight," I tell her.

Ana nods in agreement, pulling the blanket to her chin, and makes a weak attempt to smile.

"Neither do I."

For a long while, we sit in an awkward silence. I crack first. I have to find out if she's remembered anything. Ana isn't behaving as if she's afraid of me, but I heard her telling Dr. Berman she wasn't my good girl – what I would call her in the playroom. Those fucking days I tried to mold her into a submissive. When she'd please me sexually, I'd fucking praise her like I was training a dog.

God, I fucking hate myself.

"Can I ask you about what happened last night? You said the experience was different. Will you tell me what that means?" I breathe.

She frowns; I'm afraid I've upset her. I hold my breath.

"You see. . . God, this isn't going to make sense to you."

"Try me."

She blinks rapidly, those beautiful long eyelashes gently touching her skin.

"Well, I see a bright light. It's like I'm bathed in it. Dr. Berman calls it an aura. Every one of my previous aura's have been the same bright . . . almost translucent light, but last night was different. Last night, everything around me went red before the pain struck."

Red? Fucking hell. Red. Red. Red. My fucking stomach drops. The fucking red room?

"Red? What was red?" I'm barely able to ask.

"The light . . . the color . . . everything. I can't describe it."

"Ana, just explain it to me. Maybe I can help you in some way."

She furrows her eyebrows together and turns on her side to face me.

"Well, I know that I'm about to have a headache because everything around me turns into a bright light - an aura. Last night, it wasn't the same . . . I told you I couldn't describe this correctly." Ana grimaces. "I know it sounds nuts. Last night's aura wasn't bright, it was red. Instead of what I usually see, I saw red. Everything around me became red," she murmurs.

I simultaneously want to vomit and run from the room. She made mention of being my good girl, and now the color red is exploding in her mind. My heart begins to beat my rib cage. Increments. Berman told us her memory could come back all at once, or in sporadic and odd increments.

"Have you got any ideas why you saw red? Does it make any sense to you?" I ask.

There's no way I can bear this.

Ana shakes her head and looks completely lost. Her words sound irritated and somewhat angry.

"Not at all. I told Dr. Berman about it and she said that it could be significant or not. You know, just the same old song and dance."

Ana sighs deeply; she looks dejected. No matter, and I hate it like hell, but I've got to delve further.

"It doesn't represent your favorite color," I say, attempting to sound playful – lighten the mood.

"Nope, I wasn't bathed in blue."

"I'm so sorry you have to go through that shit. I'd take it upon myself if I could."

And I would.

I'm gifted with a smile. "I know," she replies.

"But you didn't remember anything?" I prod her.

"Not last night."

What? Not last night. What does that mean? Has she recalled something before and not told me?

"That sounds as if you've recalled something before. Have you?"

Ana turns on her back, stares at the ceiling, and huffs.

"I don't know if this is a memory or not - considering the fact that I can't see anything. Dr. Rose said it's possible, though."

"You've told Dr. Rose? Why haven't you told me?" I ask, my words are rushed and voice my irritation. My breathing quickens.

She turns her head back to me and shrugs. She looks embarrassed. Has Ana remembered something and kept it from me? Great. Just fucking great.

"Don't be upset, Christian. It was before Christmas. I tried to explain what was running through my mind to Dr. Rose. She told me that I should ask you about it."

"Yet, you didn't!" I angrily hiss at her.

Fuck, I'm a hypocrite.

"No, I didn't. It's just too weird, and I decided to not say anything. And after New York, I didn't want to bring it up and cause another needless scene," she answers softly.

"That's all well and good, Anastasia, but I thought we didn't keep secrets. I'd never guess you'd recall something and not share it with me . . . or anyone else, other than your shrink, that is."

Her eyes widen. "You're right. In my defense, I can't really say it's a memory or not. That's the main reason I haven't brought it up. It's like seeing red last night, it doesn't make any sense ... I don't know how to describe it accurately. I was barely able to convey it to Dr. Rose."

This time both of my hands do make contact with my hair. Ana throws me a reproachful look, but I don't stop my tugging.

"You're going to go bald, Christian," she says.

"I don't care. Tell me what you've remembered, Ana. We're together, a unit, and I deserve to know."

Her eyes become misty and I immediately feel like shit. Those fucking eyes of hers get me every time. I swallow the lump that's suddenly formed in my throat as shame floods me.

"I didn't say I remembered anything. It's just a feeling."

"A feeling?" My face must show how desperate I am for her to continue.

Anastasia's expression softens, it's like she can feel my desperation.

"Yeah. As dumb as this is going to sound . . . I just get this overwhelming feeling, an overwhelming and uncomfortable feeling."

"Uncomfortable? As if you're in pain?"

"No, it's just . . . strange . . . God, can't we just drop it? I can't articulate it."

"That sounds disturbing, Ana. I wish you would have shared this with me. I would have comforted you," I reassure her.

My stomach has dropped again, and it's a good thing I'm sitting.

She scoffs at my words. "And confused you like I am now? I don't even like to think about it. It confounds me, leaves me feeling ashamed . . . as if I've done something wrong." Her words are so soft.

I begin to gently stroke her arm that's underneath the blanket. Ana looks distant and uncertain, and now I'm feeling torn. Maybe I should drop this fucking inquisition, it's clear something about this bothers her deeply.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

Ana studies me for what seems like forever, and it's fucking unbearable. She's exhausted, and because I'm full of guilt, all I can do is kiss her forehead.

"Promise you won't think I'm crazy?" she asks.

"I promise."

At this point, I'm barely breathing. Ana sighs, and slowly shakes her head. Confusion is all over her face. Come on, baby, tell me.

"This began after we had that meeting with the cops . . . and found out who was out to off the both of us. I don't know if that's significant or not, Dr. Rose has a theory . . . One day, I got this sick feeling in my stomach and started feeling uneasy. . . really, really, uneasy," Ana's murmuring in a small voice. "And I was scared, too. The shame . . . it was as if I'd done something I didn't want to do and was ashamed of."

I suck in a deep breath. Mother fucker, now I understand why Ana was telling Dr. Berman she wasn't my good girl. But I don't think she's fully recalled anything, if she had, I'm sure she'd have screamed at the sight of me.

Hoping I look encouraging, I wipe tears that are running down her cheeks. I nod my head at her to continue. Ana sniffs loudly, making me smile. A genuine smile.

You don't deserve to smile, Grey, and you know it.

"I don't see anything, I'm just consumed by this odd feeling . . . I think I've done something wrong, and no matter how hard I try to figure out what, I just can't." Ana closes her eyes for a moment. They're full of tears when she opens them. "Christian, it feels like you're there . . . I can sense your presence."

Fuck me running. I'm at a loss for words and air in my lungs. The room is quiet, save the ticking of the clock on the wall. I have to reach over her for the box of tissues so I can mop Ana's tears.

"Shh, baby. You don't have to finish. I can't stand to see you cry, Ana. Seeing you this distressed is killing me," I mutter. I'm convinced that I'm about to shed tears of my own.

"No, Dr. Rose was right when she told me to tell you. She told me to ask you because I also hear your voice, but you don't sound . . . the tone of your voice is different. You sound angry with me, and then the shame washes over me. The voice . . . I mean your voice, sounds hard, and sometimes, I hear you . . . I hear you reprimanding me," she whispers. Her eyes are wide as she stares into mine. Ana's words are slow and barely above a whisper.

I hear her swallow through her tears. These piss thin tissues are doing shit to mop them off of her cheeks. Tears are dripping off her chin. She's a wreck, and if I was strong enough, I'd tell her to stop, but I know what she's talking about, and I'm too much of a coward to make her quit talking.

"I can't figure it out, and I've tried so hard. It's the different tone of your voice that frightens me the most – it's so distant. I feel scared. Then there's you, you sound so mad at me, and then you say the strangest thing . . . you tell me I'm a good girl like you're praising me for doing something," she whispers, her eyes wide as two saucers staring into mine.

I face plant on the bed, and repeatedly bang my head on it, feeling wetness on my own cheeks. Guilt's killing me, and it has every right to do so. Ana's distress is killing me, and knowing that I'm the reason she has this disgusting memory in her head, only twists the knife in my chest. She'll never forgive me for lying to her. I swore I'd always be honest, and I was - but I can't say that anymore. I promised that I'd never keep anything from her, yet I have - and I keep fucking doing it. Ana forgave me once, but she won't again, not after this. This is so much worse than the first time I caused her to leave me.

She shouldn't forgive me.

Oh, fuck - she's pregnant with my baby. I contaminated this beautiful young woman before, but this is much, much worse. I'm contaminating an innocent life as well. No, I can't do that. I've committed unforgivable sins already, I can't encourage Ana to keep a baby of mine. That's wrong. It would be so fucking wrong.

My shoulders shake as I weep, face down before Ana, and as expected, she begins to comfort me. Me, the man who doesn't deserve her. I've never deserved her.

"Christian, please don't cry," she pleads with me. "Stop. Christian, stop."

Like the chicken that I am, I childishly shake my head – refusing. I feel Ana's small fingers on my wet cheeks as she lifts my face. It's her turn to wipe tears away.

"I'm so sorry, Anastasia," I tell her, my voice is shaky.

"Whatever for?"

"Because of what you've gone through. What you've had to endure."

She looks at me with a confused expression. I can only imagine what she thinks of me – what she will think of me.

Ana vehemently shakes her head. "You don't have anything to apologize for, Christian. All of this is on that horrible man who did this to me. Hyde hurt me and caused my brain to play games with itself. You've done nothing wrong. You've stuck by me this entire time, you've held me together. You, Christian. It's been you." She sounds breathless.

Her beautiful face looks so earnest. It's another reminder that I'm a fucking monster that no one should love. How can I really love Anastasia if I've caused her to go through this shit? If I really loved her, I would have been honest from the moment she opened her eyes. Her life began to crumble into ruins the minute she met me, and now she's pregnant. I've completely ruined her; I'll devastate her life if I try to sway her into keeping this baby.

"Christian, look at me!" she exclaims quite loudly. Her hands are splayed across the sides of my head, blue eyes searching mine. "I'm sorry I told you . . . I knew I shouldn't have ever told you. If I'd known you'd react this badly . . ." Ana words trail away, but she's still staring at me.

I drag her up and into my arms, hiding my face in her hair.

"Oh, Ana," I moan, not from my own pain - but the pain I've made her feel – the pain she will later feel.

Ana holds me, stroking my hair and running her fingers through it. I vaguely hear her talking to me, but can't comprehend what she's saying. I know that I don't deserve her love and comfort, so I move to pull away from her - she holds me tighter. Because I'm a weak excuse of a man and crave her, I stay in her arms, sobbing.

"Christian. Christian. Please, don't do this. I can't take this, please stop," she implores.

I shake my head, only able to incoherently mumble into her hair.

"I can't, Ana. Stop. You should stop, baby. Let me go . . . I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you. Let me go," I mutter through my tears.

Ana shakes her head in defiance and adamantly refuses to release her hold on me. I can feel her breathing quicken on my neck.

"No! Not until you calm down. I love you, and I'm so sorry that I told you about that nonsense. I didn't know it would upset you. Please, forgive me. I'm sorry, Christian. Please, stop."

"Anastasia, you don't understand. You have to listen to me. That goddamned feeling . . . it's my fault," I groan, feeling her grip on me lessen slightly. That slight move tells me my fate, and the world comes crashing down on me.

"What does that mean?" she breathes.

"Oh, baby, please, forgive me."

Ana quickly releases me and pulls back enough to see my face. Her expression is one of bewilderment.

"Why would I need to forgive you, Christian? What have you done? How is what I told you your fault?" Her words are barely audible and she's violently trembling.

I'm tearing at my hair, pulling at its roots. I want to reach out and touch her, ease the panic that's building inside of her. If I do touch her, I'm sure it will be the last time I ever do.

No, I can't let that happen. I can't live without her. I pray for divine intervention.

"You have to forgive me," I choke. "I can't live without you, Anastasia." I'm shaking my head to emphasize each word.

Ana gasps. My words spark an understanding, a confused understanding. It blatantly blazes on her wet face, her bloodshot eyes full of hurt.

"That feeling . . . it's some sort of memory, isn't it? I can't see it, but it represents something, doesn't it?" she weakly asks.

I nod, I nod, and I nod, as I watch her heart begin to break.

"What does it mean, Christian? The shame and fear . . . Oh, God, did you hurt me? Christian!" Ana's voice is rising so loudly that I'm sure everyone outside of this room can hear her.

"Your voice - it sounds so mean and unfeeling . . . why? I thought, I thought it couldn't be real – it couldn't be you. I didn't believe it was real. It was real, wasn't it, Christian?"

I'm crying so hard that I can barely see her. I don't reply. I can't reply.

"Tell me!" she yells. Her panic is painfully clear.

I remain mute.

"Oh, God. What does this mean? You were reprimanding me – for what? What did you do to me? That memory," she emphasizes. "means something bad, doesn't it? Doesn't it, Christian?"

I have to admit it. I owe it to her. The truth. Ana deserves to know the truth.

I cover my face with my hands. I can't look her in the face while I tell her.

"Anastasia," I begin. My voice is garbled and sounds childlike.

"Look at me," she replies.

I draw in a large gulp of air and exhale before removing my hands. I use the back of my hands to wipe my face and force myself to meet her gaze. Seeing her, my Ana – my beautiful Ana, makes me realize that I can't allow her to slip through my fingers. There has to be a way to salvage this.

"Am I right? Have I remembered something? Is that fucked-up shit an actual memory?"

I swallow. "In a fashion, yes."

Ana's breathing so hard that I'm afraid she's going to hyperventilate.

"What does that mean?" she shrieks.

"It's not . . . it isn't as bad as you're imagining."

"As bad? As bad as what? What did you do? Did you do something to hurt me? What happened? Your voice . . . you called me . . ." Ana's words trail off. They're probably headed to where her thoughts are.

I'm all too aware of what she's thinking, and what she's going to say. Her gasp confirms it.

"Christian, you were praising me, weren't you? What did you make me do that pleased you . . . that made me feel ashamed?"

Reaching for her, she quickly backs up on the bad, and I swallow back a sob.

"Anastasia, I didn't . . . make you—"

She looks horrified. "Make me do what?" she stutters, causing my tears to resume.

"Baby, let me explain—"

"Do not call me baby. I think you hurt me, and any explanation you have doesn't mean shit. Did you really call me that?"

My head drops. I knew I should never have twisted our past. I should have been decent enough to tell her everything and chance repulsing her – causing her to leave. But I didn't. I never even gave her the opportunity to know how we came together – to understand and decide for herself if she still wanted to be with me. I stole her right to decide for herself if she considered me a sick fuck. I can't even say that I lied by omission. Jesus, can I salvage this? Is it possible to calm her down enough so I can explain everything to her? I only know one thing – I cannot lie. Not now.

"Call you what?" I whimper.

"Don't play stupid," Ana's grinding her teeth together. "Admit it; tell me. Say it, Christian."

"I did say it, but—"

"Stop!" she hollers. "You can try to justify it later. I want to hear you say the words. Say what you called me. I have to know that I wasn't imagining it. I want to hear you say it now."

Anastasia will never understand. No one would.

Our eyes lock, and I nod.

"I called you my good girl."

* * *

Since no one has asked me to respond to any reviews in one of my own, I thought I'd address a few things that I noticed in several reviews here.

The Elena in this story is the Elena we know from Darker. She's still fake, and a snake in the grass who eventually shows her true nature, but she's not going to be an over the top evil Elena that some stories depict her as.

Several readers thought that Grace was a complete moron for defending Elena and chastising Elliot, Mia, and Kate for being rude to her - I took the liberty to write how Grace and the other Greys felt about Elena because E. never told us anything about Grace's relationship with her or what her kids and Carrick thought about Elena. We only have CG's word that Grace and Elena were good friends. I've made Grace appear naive and oblivious when it comes to Elena because I think she had to have been since her son carried on a relationship with her good friend right under her nose for six years. The dislike the kids and Carrick have for Elena serves a purpose for later in the story. As for Kate disliking Elena, I thought that since Kate came from money, her family would run in the same social circles as Mrs. Lincoln.

There were several reviews about disliking the bossy and brash attitude of Kate. I think she's the Kate we know from the trilogy; I base that from James' limited description of Kate's personality and behavior in the few times James placed her in the books.


	13. Chapter 13

~ _Chapter Thirteen~_

 _Ana_

If I could run; I would run. However, I'm unable to make a hasty exit because an IV and a damn catheter are keeping me a prisoner in this hospital bed. I suppose that I could scream since I'm positive that Christian's attack dogs are guarding my door, but who's to say they'd help me escape. After all, he signs their paychecks. I'm also not quite sure if they'd remove the man standing before me no matter how hard I cried and begged. I could use the nurse's call button and yell for help, but if Ray is still here and sees a nurse entering my room, he'd probably follow behind her. The last thing this hospital needs is for my dad murdering Seattle's bachelor multi-billionaire in a patient's room. I'm not sure if the Greys' or Kate and Ethan have left either. Kate would surely kill him if she walked into this, and I'm not so sure that Elliot wouldn't beat the shit out of his brother.

I think I'd have the advantage if I do decide to start screaming for help. I think.

All I am sure of is that I'm propped up on one arm and have pushed myself as far away as I can from Christian. It's quite uncomfortable because of the damn catheter tube pulling – even drawing my legs up is bothersome. So, I'm just laying here, probably looking like a wild woman who has snot covering her face and a mane of hair in tangles around her. I'm sure snot is in that mane of hair. Even my hospital gown is hanging off my shoulders. I've got to look like I've been in a street fight – I know it feels like I have.

My tears have dried, and I can clearly see a panic stricken Christian standing before me. His tears haven't dried, and I'm oddly surprised that fact doesn't bother me. I realize that I don't know anything, but he's confirmed he knows everything. And everything is what Christian is going to tell me – the problem with that, is that I have no concrete idea if he'd be telling me the truth. Oh, the truth. It's just out of my grasp and I'm beginning to not care if I ever find out anything -or remember anything. If my relationship with Christian was anything like my stupid head has been giving me hints about, then I don't want anything to do with him. I've seen how this man operates – he won't leave my room until he's had his say – he refuses to cede control.

I'll have to hear him out; it doesn't mean that I'll believe him.

After I adjust my hospital gown, I attempt to clean my face with what's left of the box of tissues. My hair can only be smoothed down, I long lost the hair tie Nurse Nora used when she fixed my hair this morning. I want to look halfway presentable if I'm about to dance with who could be the devil. Christian also looks disheveled. He's still wearing the clothes he had on last night, but his dress shirt is haphazardly hanging out and his hair is sticking up in a million different directions. Since he hasn't moved, I'm assuming his designer shoes are stuck to the floor. He reminds me of a broken jaw.

"You might as well sit down," I tell him.

Having to clear my throat, I grab the Styrofoam cup of melted ice on the bedside table. I'm doing my best to sound calm, hopefully, if I do, Christian will explain whatever it is he said he's responsible for truthfully.

He drags a chair from across the room but doesn't place it too close to me. I'm sure my body language isn't welcoming him to come any further. Christian uses his shirt to wipe his face dry. His eyes are bloodshot, although, the gray in them remain their brilliant hue. He's looking at me like I'm an animal ready to strike as he sits down. Christian opens his mouth, but I hold up a hand to stop him.

"Just explain what you've done. What I did."

Good, I sound calm and reasonable.

Christian swallows and looks around the room with a forlorn expression on his face. He's holding his breath and his eyes widen when he looks at me, revealing fear. He audibly exhales.

"Explaining what you're experiencing would be pointless. For you to fully understand, I'll have to tell you everything."

My mind spins. "Everything?" I parrot. "What do you mean?"

Christian screws his eyes up tightly, and his breathing is rapid; his jaw is clenched rigidly. I feel a tad bit of compassion for him; it looks as though he's internally battling himself. He opens his eyes, and I can see the sincerity in them. He gazes at me intently before answering me – his voice is soft and low.

"Just promise that you'll remember the man I am now, Ana. I'm not the person I used to be. I'm no longer the man that you first met. You changed me."

Remember the man he is now? What could that mean? What sort of man was he?

I nod and grasp the blanket with whitened knuckles.

"I haven't been honest with you, and now is the time for me to man up and tell you the truth."

Christian's eyes never leave mine. They are regretful, and guarded, however, he's regaining command of his emotions. My brow creases. I shake my head, confused. Deep inside me, anxiety slowly unfurls. I don't ask him to elaborate because he does it for me.

He takes a deep breath and swallows. "Our relationship did not begin as you believe. It was unconventional, to say the least, but you gave me a second chance and ever since then, we've had a healthy and normal relationship."

I stare at him, puzzled, my thoughts have crashed and are now burning. I'm lost as to how I'm going to ask what the hell he means, but my mouth is too dry to do so. Christian is staring at me expectantly, I suppose waiting for my reaction, which is a tingling up my spine. He shifts uncomfortably in the chair.

"Anastasia?" he asks. He's subtly tilted his head and looks dismayed. I'm sure I appear in shock for all of the blood in my face is now around my ankles.

"I'm not sure how to respond," I murmur. "But you should start at the beginning and not leave a single thing out."

"I have every intention to do so, and I realize you probably won't believe me." His voice is strained.

"We'll have to see. Start talking, Christian."

"Let me say this first, Ana. Those feelings you've been having stem from our early relationship."

"I don't doubt that; however, I'm beginning to think that those feelings could be indicative of the worst kind of torture."

Tears are pricking in the corner of my eyes, but I keep them at bay. I refuse to cry.

Christian rests his elbows on his thighs and says nothing for a minute.

"No torture, Ana." He shakes his head. "To preempt the question of what my motive was, I made a selfish decision because I was afraid you would leave me if you knew the truth. I've continued making selfish decisions, and I'm truly sorry for what I've done."

"Get on with your story. You're dragging this out, or stalling," I quietly reply.

I'm beginning to feel frightened, and am revisiting my earlier thoughts of screaming for help.

I've got to give the man credit, he continues to look me in the eyes. It's most likely a technique for when he negotiates a big deal at work. But I feel, suddenly, that perhaps being the center of Christian's attention is a bad place to be.

"I'd never thought. . . Ana, until you, I'd never had a traditional relationship—"

I narrow my eyes and interrupt him. "I'm aware. You had those women like Leila Williams. . . Those kept women. Was I one them?"

It's impossible for me to comprehend the fact that I'd sacrifice my morals and be one those women who were Christian's dirty secrets.

He frowns. "Not exactly, but I wanted you to be," he admits.

I gape at him, appalled. It was one thing to think it, now he's confirmed it. The revelation is numbing. Why would I agree to such a thing? To be degraded like that.

"Please, Ana. Let me tell you everything. Just patiently listen to me, please."

"You have the floor, Mr. Grey." I barely get the words past the bile rising in the back of my throat.

"As I was saying, I had never been in a traditional relationship before I met you. When we met, you didn't know, and you didn't find out until our first night together at Escala. The night I took your virginity. You thought that night was a date, but my intention was to bring you to the penthouse so I could show you the only kind of sexual relationship I was interested in, and the only kind I'd ever had."

Christian's words flew out of his mouth in a rush. He lowers his head and looks briefly between his legs before meeting my gaze again. He looks ashamed.

"Before you, I only had BDSM relationships with women. Back then, you told me you knew the basics of BDSM. Do you still remember?"

I'm watching Christian's mouth move, but I don't hear a word that he's saying. BDSM. Of course, I know what it is; I took two psychology classes is college, for God's sake. If that's the only kind of sex he was interested in, that means he's a sadist. BDSM requires a masochist for the sadist – I'm not a masochist. Sadists get off on beating a masochist, and masochists get off on being beaten. BDSM. Bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, and sadism and masochism. Call it whatever you want - my God, Christian likes to hurt women. It's obvious where this conversation is going, and now I'm beginning to understand where those disturbing feelings originated from. The penny has dropped; why did I go along with that?

This catheter is beginning to hurt, so I sit and raise the bed to a sitting position. I'm positive that my urethra will be ulcerated before they remove this damn thing.

"You. . . are a sadist? I interrupt him, my voice cracking.

Christian blinks several times and licks his lips before replying.

"No. I a - I was a Dominant," he says carefully.

"Which means?"

"Dominants want like-minded people to surrender themselves to them. A Dominant exerts control of the person, they want to have them submit to them in all things. They're referred to as a Submissive." His voice is quiet and hesitant. "It's always consensual," he quickly adds.

I'm hypnotized by his burning gray eyes that are boring into mine. I'm imagining him with devil horns, a pitchfork and wielding a whip.

"So, I wasn't really your girlfriend, I was your submissive." It's a statement rather than a question, and my voice is strangely emotionless.

Christian pushes his hair off of his forehead and straightens in the chair. I watch him inhale, then exhale deeply. He looks confused.

"How do I explain this so you'll understand? Ana, I took your shy demeanor as submissive and thought that I could train you into being a Submissive. It wasn't long before my assumption was proved to be incorrect, but I still tried to persuade you to try things my way."

"You thought that you could train me? Like someone trains a dog?"

This man looks as cool as a cucumber in a wrinkled suit. We sound like we're discussing the shitty Seattle weather.

"I wouldn't describe it as training you like a dog, but yes, since you were inexperienced and knew nothing about BDSM, I thought that I—"

"Could show me the ropes?" I snort at my words. "Please pardon the pun."

The man, the control freak, that I thought I knew so well gulps.

"Again, not the way I'd put it, but yes, I tried to integrate you into BDSM. I did everything that I could to make you believe you would enjoy it. I pursued you with only one thing in mind, and that was to make you my submissive. Somewhere, at some point during that time, I began to develop feelings for you that I didn't understand; I tried to ignore those feelings because they were unfamiliar, and they terrified me," he replies, his voice is low and I'm straining to hear him.

Suddenly, I'm hit by a thunderbolt. I gasp. Oh, my God, please tell me this didn't happen.

"Did I let you tie me up the first time I had sex? Was I bound and gagged when you took my virginity?" I shriek.

Christian jolts in his seat, and looks like he wants to reach over and touch me. I wrap my arms around myself. How could I have become involved with a sadist?

How is my loving and kind Christian this man?

"No!" he exclaims in a panicked voice. "We were in my bedroom, I promise. Yes, I made sure you couldn't touch me, but you weren't bound, I swear. I didn't take your virginity in my playroom during a BDSM scene."

My brows furrow and I squint my eyes at him. Playroom? What's a scene? What's anything, and why the hell did I become involved with it?

"Your playroom? And what the hell is a BDSM scene?"

Christian bows his head, not raising it while he answers.

"I had a room in the apartment that I called my playroom. It was where I practiced. . . had scenes with all of my submissives. A scene is performing certain acts of BDSM. There are many implements one can use, toys, bondage . . ." The words fade away as I've stopped listening to him.

The words fade away as I've stopped listening to him.

There isn't a room in his apartment like that. I know every inch of it. Implements? Toys, huh? I'm sure they aren't anything made by Fischer Price.

"Is this room invisible, because I know your apartment like the back of my hand and have never seen a . . . playroom."

He raises his head and his expression is wary and contrite. He shakes his head slowly.

"It isn't there any longer. I tore everything in it down and had it painted. It's the upstairs storage room."

"Where you keep your mountain bike?"

"Yes."

"Why did you make it a storage room? Why'd you paint it?" I press him.

Christian pales, and my stomach twists. How can these two simple questions upset him so much?

"I promise that I'll tell you everything, but let me start at the beginning. Allow me to piece it all together so you'll understand."

"I find understanding any of this shit impossible. How did you manage to convince me to go along with this? I don't care what other people do in their bedrooms, but I know me, and I wouldn't take part in this. That . . . sex isn't something that I'd do. I'm not a masochist."

"I know you aren't, Anastasia. I never believed you were. I just wanted you so badly that I thought I could make you what I wanted . . . the only kind of woman I was involved with. Please, just let me continue."

"Be my guest," I mutter, unable to coalesce the man I've been sharing a bed with, to a man who gets off on hurting women.

Did I let him get off on hurting me?

"Every memory that you have of those early days are accurate, but some, some of them . . . You've forgotten certain parts of them."

From nowhere, my mind opens the curtains to an awful truth. Oh, fuck me. I'm pregnant with this man's baby. How did I forget that? If I do choose to have this baby, I'll forever be chained to this man. God forbid it to be a girl. Jesus, how is this my life?

"Which parts?" I sound disinterested. I'm in shock.

Christian clears his throat. All I can do is stare at him. This man, loving and gentle, can't be sadistic. He'd never abuse me. He worries and cares too much about me.

"The night I took your virginity. I showed you my playroom that night and told you I was a Dominant and wanted you as a Submissive. You did sign an NDA. I lied to you when you asked me if you had."

Heart failure. Stroke. Myocardial Infarction. I'm experiencing each of them all at once. Where is oxygen when you need it? How many lies has he told me?

"So, I wasn't unique, after all," I whisper, feeling like I want to cry.

"Yes, yes, you were . . . You are, Anastasia. My God, your love saved me. You've made me a better man, a better person, you've done that. You made me realize that I didn't need that shit any longer. You made me not want that life," he replies vehemently.

I've yet to hear the sordid details and how he knows that inexplicable feeling is a memory, but I'm already overwhelmed – drowning. I made him a better man, but what kind of woman did he make me? Was our relationship like this before I got hurt?

"I suppose that I should feel honored that saved you. I think the only thing I've saved before was a stray cat when I was ten."

"Ana, please. I'm serious, deadly serious. My life was shit before you came into it."

I cover my face with my hands and shake my head. Who cares about him? He's making this all about him.

"No, please, you shut up. You're making this all about you, Christian when you owe me a huge explanation. You owe me months of explanations. I don't care if I saved you," I tell him. "And I don't want to hear stupid, irrelevant details about us back then. Tell me how I agreed to that shit. Had I gone completely insane?"

Christian's looks like he's about to break down. He's silent for a long while; I think he's sizing me up. Perhaps he's reading my body language and expression like he's told me he does at work. I'm not a merger or an acquisition. He can't negotiate his way out of this. Oh, I feel nauseous, as I have for a week, and have to swallow the sour feeling that's coming from my stomach. This is just another reminder that this man impregnated me, and my early decision about handling this pregnancy is looking like the correct one.

"You hadn't gone insane. We met, you became attracted to me, and I played upon that. I admit that I pursued you and did my best to dazzle you. I wanted you so badly that I basically moved into the Heathman. I wanted you, and you wanted me. You said I was the first man you'd ever wanted." He stops and I hear an audible sigh. "My behavior was never malicious. Initially, I was vague with you. You'd ask if I had girlfriends, and I dodged your questions. I didn't want to tell you, I wanted to show you what I wanted with you. That's the night I flew you to Escala.

"You were shocked but surprisingly calm about it. I expected for you run out of the playroom screaming. Then we went to my office and discussed . . . Ana, my relationships came with a contract. They listed rules that I expected to be followed, and what a potential submissive would or would not do sexually."

My jaw hits the floor as I gape at him. What. The. Fuck.

"A contract? You had a contract with rules? What kind of rules? Did I sign one? This just gets better by the minute. This can't be real."

Christian looks so sad that I almost feel sorry for him. Just. My Christian versus the one he's describing to me is a conundrum that I just can't figure out.

"Yes, there were contracts. They weren't legally binding, of course. Now, I know the rules I insisted upon were about my need to control, nevertheless, you'll find them shocking." He stops and swallows. "If a submissive broke one of the rules, I would punish them. Punishments were a part of the contract, too. Not only did a submissive let me know what she was willing to do sexually, she also listed punishments that were a hard limit for her. A hard limit means they refuse to do something."

The room is spinning. I feel like a tornado is swirling around me, sucking reality from the room. What kind of fucked up person likes being punished . . . beaten?

"After you read the contract, you told me that you were a virgin, and I was shocked and angry at myself. I knew you were innocent, but I didn't think you were that innocent," he continues.

"I apologize for disturbing our business meeting. I can call it that, can't I? It involved a contract after all. How did I lose my virginity after learning what kind of relationship you wanted from me?"

"I thought if we had sex, I had a better chance of making you my submissive. So, I made the decision to take you in my bed, a place that I'd never had sex in before, and that's how you lost your virginity. It was a first for me, too. I'd never had vanilla sex in my life. It had always been BDSM."

"Vanilla sex?"

He scrubs his face and hides behind them for a minute. Vanilla sex. Another term that's a mind fuck. Do BDSM dictionaries exist?

He lowers his hands.

"It means not being tied up, no toys, or anything that has to do with BDSM. It's what we do now. Making love. However, I didn't make love to you when I took your virginity. I was much too rough with you and it was all about fucking to me. I'm sorry I did that and would do anything to change it. You deserved to lose your virginity gently," he replies.

"What happened after that night?" I breathe.

He sighs. "You agreed to try to be my submissive. We played out scenes that I wanted to do with you in the playroom. I'm sorry to say that we only had vanilla sex the night I took your virginity. After that, we only had sex in the playroom."

Wow. He's wrong. I did lose my mind. I'm mute and staring mindlessly into space.

Christian breaks through my thoughts.

"Being my submissive meant we saw each other from Friday evenings until Sunday afternoons, and you stayed at Escala for a weekend. We never went out on dates, although my family and Kate believed we were a couple. You remember the family dinner you attended." Christian stands up and begins to pace. "You had your own room. It's the guest room at the end of the upstairs hallway."

"Why did I have my own room?" I barely get the words out.

"It's been my experience that my submissives need to be as far away from me as they could after a scene, especially if I had punished them. Having your own room was a standard rule of mine. No one was allowed to sleep with me, until your first night at the apartment."

I look at him. He's so beautiful, and I can't see him hitting a woman, whether she consented to or not. But I know why he wouldn't sleep with anyone.

"Because of your night terrors and fear of being touched."

Christian stops pacing and nods.

"Exactly," he says.

"You tied women up so they couldn't touch you, didn't you?" My words are flat and I feel like I'm floating around the room, not speaking.

"Yes."

"How long was I your submissive?"

He moves the chair closer to me and I don't protest. I'm too exhausted from lack of sleep and the clusterfuck in my mind to care. Of all the scenarios, I thought those shit feelings could have meant, I would have never dreamed it was because I partook in a sexual relationship like this.

"Not quite a month."

"What kind of things did I do with you?"

I close my eyes awaiting his answer.

"Shit . . . When we went into the playroom, I considered you mine. Mine to do with as I saw fit. You would have to be waiting for me in the playroom while you were on your knees, only wearing your panties—"

I gasp, and the urge to vomit returns. He made me kneel waiting for him? I thought he wasn't training me like a dog. Hearing this is going to kill me. It's going to kill our relationship. Christian shuts his mouth and presses them into a thin white line. He looks as if he's about to burst into tears.

I wave my hand for him to continue.

"Often times, when I came into the room and saw you kneeling there waiting for me, I called you a 'good girl', and I would also say it when you pleased me sexually. That's the reason you've been hearing me call you a 'good girl'."

Tears spring unwelcome into my eyes. Hearing this is harder than I thought, and he's just begun to describe this shit with me. The tears are now streaming down my face. I'm not sure which emotion brought them on: hurt or anger.

"Continue?" Christian whispers.

I swat my tears aside furiously. I turn my head away and stare at the wall.

"Yes."

"You had to address me as Sir, and could only look at me if I gave you permission. Those two rules applied inside and outside of the playroom unless I allowed you to speak freely," he groans. "I would spank you with my hand. I would use leather cuffs to suspend you on the iron grid of the room's ceiling so we could f-fuck standing up. There's something called a Saint Andrews cross, it was wooden and shaped like a large x. I shackled you to that as well. There was a large bed in the room and I would use a rope so you would be spread eagle on the bed. You were usually blindfolded. I think that's why you can't see anything when you hear me calling you a 'good girl'."

Fuck all things holy. Who is this man? I'm angry that I'm crying and want to curl up in a ball and hide. I'd rather have not known. Why did he tell me? I could have gone the rest of my life and not ever known I'd stooped so low - to humiliate myself that way.

Choking on the tears I'm swallowing, I look at Christian's beautiful face. His gray eyes are guarded. He's wondering what the wild animal he's been chasing is about to do, and he's pondering which way to run.

Which way will I run?

"Don't stop, Christian. Tell me everything," I whisper, my voice sounds as raw as it feels.

"When you were restrained, I would use riding crops on you, never to hurt you though. I also used a flogger on you. A flogger is made of long soft suede strands and has small beads on the end of each strand. It makes your skin more sensitive, and increases your pleasure while you're having sex."

"Did I enjoy it?"

He looks down at his hands and back to me. He's shaking his head and looks bemused.

"I thought you did. You told me that you did, but later on, you admitted you were pretending that you were enjoying it. You told me the only time you had an orgasm was when I took your virginity," he answers softly.

"The shame I feel," I say so matter-of-factly.

He nods. "I think so, yes."

"The room was red."

A ghost of a smile touches his lips.

"Why the hell are you smiling?"

"I don't mean to smile, it's that you're so astute and seem to know everything."

"I sure as hell didn't know this." I snort. "Why do you suppose the aura last night was red?"

Christian momentarily looks uncomfortable and runs his hands through his hair.

"I don't know. I haven't given it much thought, but now, I assume it has something to what you've been experiencing. Maybe more of your memory is returning."

I suppose my image of Christian as the devil carrying a pitchfork and whip is spot on. He was red, like his 'playroom'.

"I wasn't your submissive when was hurt, was I?

"God, no, Ana. That shit only lasted for a short while. We were in a normal relationship before your attack. You can ask everyone we know. You've seen pictures, you—"

"Yes, Christian, I know." Sarcasm drips from each word. "Are you still involved with that shit?"

He lurches towards me, his eyes wide. "No! Hell fucking no. I'm done with all of that shit. It's just you. I love you, Ana. It's only you."

This is the passionate, caring and loving man that I know. I can't reconcile him with the man he's been telling me about. It's so unreal. He's so understanding and everything good.

I'm so confused.

"So, if I told you I didn't enjoy doing that shit with you and I can feel that I was ashamed of it, how did I ever fall in love with you?" I ask. Shit. I didn't think I asked myself that out loud.

Christian shrugs and looks despondent. A lost boy. A lost boy split apart?

"I've asked you that a million times. You tell me that you saw the real me and that I needed to see how good I really am. I still don't see that."

"You are a good man, Christian. You're kind, gentle, and have been nothing but loving to me. I can feel your love for me. That's why I'm so shocked by this. I would never have thought you'd be less than honest with me."

"I know. I'm so sorry, Anastasia. I was just so scared that you'd wake up and only remember that I wanted you as a submissive, and think that I was a monster. It was an irrational and impulsive decision. I was afraid you wouldn't remember everything about us, that you wouldn't recall who we really are. How we love one another." he says.

"Leila Williams . . . and the rest of the women you told me about were all your submissives?"

"Yes."

I gnaw on my lips and consider this. Consider all of the material shit that he gave them. Was that part of the submissive package?

"You said you gave them jewelry and provided for them monetarily."

"I did, yes."

Well, my mind might be monumentally blown away, but to be fair to Christian, he's painfully answered each of my questions. But like he said, I might not believe him.

I really don't know if he's being honest with me.

"Did you do something to Leila Williams that you haven't been forthcoming about? Did you give her a reason to try to kill you? To kill me?"

He shakes his head and looks at me confused. "No. I honestly don't know why she's done any of this shit," he replies.

"How many women have there been?"

Christian looks strained. He's clenching his jaw and his eyes are tight.

"Fifteen contracted submissives prior to you, but . . . there are others from the time I was in training."

I look at him incredulously. "Training?"

"Yes. I went to BDSM clubs to learn how to be a Dominant. That included sex. I can't give you a number of how many women there were."

I suppose if Mr. Promiscuous Dominant had an STD, I'd have long since had symptoms, and so far, it doesn't burn when I pee.

My stomach somersaults with some kind of strange feeling. Or it could the fucking morning sickness I've had all week. Fuck, that's just another reminder that I'm pregnant.

"Does your family know about your involvement with BDSM?" I ask but can guess I know the answer.

"God, no! They'd disown me." There's a tinge of sadness in his words.

I frown at him. His family adores him, they'd never desert him.

"No, they wouldn't. They all love you, Christian."

He looks at me skeptically. "Because they have to."

I surely look like I think he's crazy. Crazier than I already think he is.

"That's ridiculous. Why in the world do you think that nonsense?"

Christian sighs and gets up to pace again.

"I told you that I was a troublesome teenager. I've never given my family anything but grief," he answers.

"Wah, for you, little baby. Cry me a river, Grey. Get over your pity party because I have a shit load of questions to ask you," I snap. "Does anyone know about your past?"

I watch his shoulders drop. He turns on his heel to face me.

"Those in the BDSM community."

"There's a community? Like a club where you pledge allegiance to ropes and chains?"

Christian smirks. "I meant other people who are into BDSM."

"Why did you do it if you are so concerned about being found out?"

"Because it was all that I knew, Ana."

"Aren't you afraid one of these women will go public with this shit?"

His cheeks redden. "No. I keep pictures of them in less than a flattering light. If they try to go public, I would use the pictures as a way to shut them up.

Holy mother fucker. That's terrible. Cruel. It's a way to trap them into keeping their mouth shut. A planned out terrible and cruel thing to do.

"That's one of the worst things I've ever heard in my life. You're so ashamed of your own behavior that you blackmail women. I don't understand why you'd live that way and be so ashamed of it. You're ashamed because you know it's wrong," I whisper in disgust.

I watch as he considers this. "Perhaps. But as I said, it was all that I knew."

"You claim BDSM sex was the only kind of sex you'd had. So how did you have sex when you were a teenager. I don't believe a hormonal kid who is as good looking as you, being a virgin."

Now, Christian looks very uncomfortable and he pales. His mouth opens and closes several times. I'm scrutinizing him as the moments grow longer.

"May I take a pass on answering that question?" he practically stutters.

Shit, what the hell? He found teenage girls who were willing to be tied up and fucked?

"No. Tell me."

He's standing before me with his hands on the back of his neck. He looks pained.

"You know that I couldn't be touched. I couldn't even think about allowing anyone to touch me until you entered my life, that is." He steps closer to the bed. "I never. . . Someone that I knew introduced me to BDSM, and I realized I could have sex if the woman was bound and couldn't touch me. I frequented BDSM clubs while I attended Harvard."

Christian sounds so cool with his flat words. Too cool.

He's lying.

I don't call him on it because I suppose it's irrelevant to our fucked relationship, but I know that he's lying, although I think he's been honest up until this point. Odd.

"This is why Kate says she has a bad feeling about you. She picked up on it immediately," I mutter.

"Yes, but our relationship is more than cordial now. We seem to have called a truce when you were attacked."

He sits again. I'm beginning to believe he has ADHD.

"But she doesn't know?"

"No, you've never told her."

"Because of the NDA?" I ask sardonically.

"Initially, yes. Later on, I ripped it to shreds. You've said it's in the past and not her business."

My stomach begins to betray me and I feel like being sick. I fight the nasty feeling down, but I'm beginning to sweat. Naturally, the control freak notices.

"Are you sick, Ana?" he asks, alarmed.

I raise a hand to my mouth but shake my head no. Please don't let me throw up in front of this man.

"No. I'm just nauseous. It's the morning sickness I've been fighting all week. But it should be called all day sickness. I'm fine, really."

Christian doesn't look convinced.

"I can call the nurse. Maybe there's something she can give you that will help."

"It's because I'm pregnant, Christian. She can't help me with that."

He studies me, leaning forward, once again, his elbows are resting on his knees. The mention of my pregnancy causes his eyes to widen. They are heavy with some unknown emotion.

"You are," he replies.

"I'm sure you know these revelations only serve to complicate my decision over that."

He shakes his head like he's denying that fact. I think he's putting his thoughts in order.

"I don't agree. I absolutely don't agree, and don't understand why you feel that way."

"Do you really have to understand anything about this? Of course, I have to measure this shit into my decision about this pregnancy. And what if the baby is a girl?" I seethe. "Will you want to beat her? Will you want to beat her mother in front of her?"

"For fuck's sake, Ana! I told you that's not part of my life anymore. It's disgusting for you to believe I'd beat a child, or you for that matter. I would never hurt you. I'd rather chop off my own hands. I told you to remember the man you know. The man you live with and love. Do you think I'm like the man I've just described to you?"

Christian's holding onto the bedrail and is talking to me through gritted teeth. He's both furious and hurt.

"No, you aren't anything like the man I love, and that's why this is so fucked. Everything around me was already fucked, but now you reveal this very shocking shit to me. How do you expect me to act? I'm hurt that you lied to me, that you've been lying to me, and I'm furious with you!"

Here come the tears. I will them away, but they slide down my cheeks anyway.

He's propped his head on the bedrail. "I know . . . and I'm so sorry. I've never regretted anything as much as I regret those weeks," he says softly.

"I'm sorry for saying that. It was out of line and mean. I apologize," I whisper.

"Don't be. I suppose it's natural for you to have those thoughts. I deserve your ire."

"Yes, you deserve my fury and my hurt. But I don't want to throw around cruel words that I can't take back. I don't want to hurt you that way," I say, emphasizing 'hurt you'. "We have to have a long discussion about this pregnancy. I'll do my best to keep what you've done out of the equations, but there are enormous choices to be made. I want you to be a part of those choices, regardless of what you've done.

But . . . you've knocked the wind out of me and I don't know what to do about it. I can't even begin to understand why you made the choices that you have. I think you robbed me of any decision, whether I woke up and only saw you as a bad guy or not. I'm speechless from the fact you've been lying to me for months, months, Christian. Where do I put that kind of pain?"

He lifts his head and there's a tiny red indention on his forehead from the bed rail. I know that if I wasn't emotionally ripped a part that I'd kiss it.

"I think we can work through this if you want to, Anastasia. If you will believe that I'm nothing like that man, I think you can get past it. Please, remember the man that I am now." Christian's eyes are becoming misty. "We got through this before and it made us stronger. It's why we're together. You forgave me for—"

Staring at him sharply, I interrupt him.

"Whoa. Rewind what you just said . . . Why did you say we got through this before? What did I forgive you for?"

His eyes widen, and he blinks, that expression of fear returning. Oh, no. I brace myself for the worst.

I stare impassively back, not blinking or backing down.

"We broke up for a short period of time. You left, and we were apart for five days. You said you couldn't be my submissive, so I knew I had to make some life changes. It was also when I realized that I'd fallen in love with you. You took me back after I told you I was done with BDSM," he murmurs

"If I was trying so hard to be your submissive, why did I change my mind? You said I forgave you . . . Why did I have to forgive you?"

"Listen, Ana, you're finding out all of this at once. It's already been too much, and I won't be able to explain this the way it happened. You'll misinterpret what happened and take it out of context," he pleads. "Once you're out of here, we can go see John. He was there when we got back together. After you walked out on me, you wouldn't talk to me without a mediator—"

This is bad. This is going to be really, really bad.

"John Flynn?" I breathe.

"Yes, he helped us."

Narrowing my eyes at him, I re-position myself so I can get a better look at him.

He appears distraught.

"Why the hell did I want John Flynn to mediate jack shit? Why did I walk out on you, Christian?" I demand.

"You won't understand, Ana. You don't remember what led up to it. Please, baby."

His expression is bleak, and my heart is beating erratically. Every thought in my mind is jumbled and shaking. Hell, I'm shaking.

"Tell me!" I yell.

"Promise that you'll forgive me, Ana, promise," he implores.

"Now."

He closes his eyes and when he reopens them, a single tear is running down his cheek. He swallows hard, and I swear I can hear his rapid heartbeat.

"I'd never punished you before. Every scene was for pleasure. I was trying to work you up to do the hard shit, but one morning – it was pre-dawn. You asked me to show you how much a punishment could hurt." He's barely speaking above a whisper.

Oh, God.

"I was torn. I didn't understand why you suddenly wanted it, you'd cried when I used my hand to spank you, so I didn't know why you wanted me to punish you. But I gave in – to the dark side of me. Afterward, you left me. I begged you not to leave me, but you said I couldn't be what I needed . . . that I couldn't be what you wanted."

Placing my hands over my eyes, I scream at him, "What did you do to me?"

"Ana . . . I'm so sorry. I hit you. I hit with a leather belt."

What did he just fucking say?

This man . . . that man needs to fix his fucked-up mind. I need to fix my fucked-up mind if I allowed him to hit me with a belt. No, if I asked him to hit me. To punish me like I was a small child and he was my parent.

A twisted, sadistic parent.

I haven't lowered my hands, so I can't see what he's doing, and I honestly don't care. The lump of choking bile that I've been shoving back in my stomach is cruelly making a reappearance. My insides lurch and I recognize the feeling that I can't control. I drop my arms and frantically search the room for something to empty my stomach in.

It's too late, though. I gag, and then spectacularly throw up all over myself and the bed. My body has a mind of its own and continues to empty itself.

I'm vaguely aware that Christian is holding a basin in front of me, and screaming at someone who answered my call light. He holds my hair back as terrible dry heaves rack my body. They are unceasing.

Soon, I feel a cool, wet washrag on my forehead and hear soft female voices. My head is spinning and I'm covered in sweat. I'm finally able to take in my surroundings, and along with Christian, Nurse Nora, and another nurse are bustling around me. I hear Christian demanding they clean me up in a loud hard voice. His voice brings the dry heaves back.

The nurses quickly throw off the blanket and sheets and wiping my face and neck clean. I can feel the sticky vomit and smell its stench. I gag again.

"Get her off that bed, now," Christian orders.

"Mr. Grey, leave us to do our jobs. Please leave until we've settled Miss Steele."

Nurse Nora doesn't sound happy.

"She's covered in vomit!" he exclaims.

"Mr. Grey, let us do our jobs. Please leave. You can come back in after Miss Steele has been bathed," the second nurse says.

I feel their hands mechanically doing their job, but it's the nurse's words that keep rolling through my mind. 'You can come back in'.

Pain, hurt, and confusion are swirling through my weak and sweaty body. Christian is the cause of this pain, hurt, and confusion. He hurt me. He hurt me with a belt, and he's been hurting me psychologically for months.

No, Christian, no.

I twist my face from the rag Nurse Nora is cleaning me with and pin my eyes on Christian. He's beautiful, but what kind of beautiful? What's the price one has to pay for his beauty? I don't believe I can afford it.

His gray eyes search mine, but there's nothing in them to see. They look the way I feel; I feel flat and empty. Hollow.

I shake my head at him.

"No, Christian. Get the fuck out of my room and don't ever come back."


	14. Chapter 14

~ _Chapter Fourteen~_

 _Ana_

* * *

Whenever Christian and I are in a room together I feel an odd mixture in my heart. It's like a recipe for self-induced pain and exhaustion. He is honest and repentant, I know that – I feel that. What I can't feel is forgiveness. When he's repeatedly asked for it, I've remained quiet. Solemn, because I'm afraid I no longer remember how forgiveness tastes.

I've been living in hopelessness and hostility and am beginning to question if my considering an abortion is purely self-destruction. Further destruction of myself, because I've accepted that a part of me died that September evening. Everyone knows that a part of Ana Steele was destroyed in a room she doesn't remember ever having been inside of.

My recent thoughts and nightmares aren't steeped in indecisiveness about whether or not my relationship with Christian is dead. They aren't about us at all. They are of certainty. The certainty that a part of me had been taken and killed the second my head made impact on that countertop. On that floor. That's what's dead, and I'm not going to get it back. I know I never will. That knowledge is clouding my life and judgments and there's no longer a reason to deny it. Confusion over my present circumstance is only compounding everything. . .

Kate's hands land on mine, stopping me from wearing a hole out of the fabric covering my thighs and interrupts my inner monologue. Neither of us acknowledges it, instead, she smiles and continues whatever it must have been she was saying.

"I'm not going to press you about whatever it is that's going on between you and Christian, but you've made the right decision. He deserves to be there. You always make the right decisions, Ana, plus I doubt moneybags would allow you to leave this penthouse even if you'd told him he wasn't welcome."

"Yes, he would have. An entire army would escort me, but he wouldn't stop me from going to see Dr. Greene," I reply to Kate, whose sitting Indian style in front of me on the bed. I pull my hands from her.

We're in one of the guest rooms in Christian's penthouse. I've been sleeping in here since I was released from my two-day hospital stay. Two weeks have passed, and although we've spent hours discussing what he disclosed to me, Christian's lying to me for so many months is something I'm having a hard time processing. Discussing what he's done and talking about it doesn't fix broken trust more than it fixes broken bones. Lies, and then more lies. I can't stop wondering if lies, all well intended, are necessary in the mind of Christian Grey.

I've had three sessions with Dr. Rose and all she keeps stressing is whether or not I feel like I can ever trust him again. That's the crux of our problem: trust. My problem isn't with that BDSM shit, I forgave him once and gave him a second chance because I loved him. There are still many questions rolling around my head, but I can let all of that go like I did before. I asked Dr. Rose if Christian could attend one of my sessions, and she was adamantly against it. She stresses that she's my therapist, Christian has his own therapist, and they're meant to protect us individually. If we want or need joint therapy, we should find a counselor who is neutral and doesn't have a history with either of us. Dr. Rose has given me a list of potential therapists that Christian is researching. More like investigating every inch about them and breaking laws do so.

"Well, Sherman tanks or not, you're doing the right thing," Kate says. "I'm proud of you and will support the decision you make, no matter what."

"Oh, I don't doubt that. Reassurance isn't what I need. . . I don't know what I need."

Frowning, she starts picking the lint off of the sweater I'm wearing. Her frown puts one on my face. If she starts crying again, I swear to God, I'll slap her. I know she means well, but when Kate gets her ugly cry on, I nearly lose it. I don't regret telling her I'm pregnant because I know I can trust her to keep her mouth shut. I just didn't count on her seemingly endless crying jags. I don't understand how Elliot hasn't noticed something is off with her.

I stretch my arms over my head and look at the clock on the bedside table. It's time to leave. I inwardly groan. The car rides with Christian these past two weeks have been awkward and uncomfortable. He seems to be trying too hard to appear non-threatening and I'm trying too hard to make him believe everything will be all right. How can we both be in therapy and remain so fucked up?

"The hour is at hand," I say, getting off of the bed.

Kate follows me to the floor length mirror and re-adjusts my pony tail. I'm dressed for comfort; I'm wearing an oversized sweater and leggings. Kate has already loudly disapproved.

We hold hands as we make our way downstairs where we find Christian waiting in the living room. He's still in the suit he wore to work and looks outrageously handsome. He smiles, but is radiating anxiety. I'm not sure what emotion I'm radiating because I'm too busy pushing nausea away to want to give it any thought. But there hasn't been a day where I haven't felt sick in a month, so the rocking of my stomach isn't new.

"Mogul, I did try to get Ana out of these leggings, I swear. Naturally, she refused,"

Kate tells him with a brave smile on her face.

Christian and I shrug at the same time, and I think there's a smile wanting to tug the corners of his lips. He slips his cell phone into one of his pants pockets.

"Anastasia could be wearing a sack and she'd still look beautiful. You look lovely, Ana," he says. "How are you feeling?"

"Thank you, Christian, and today's been the usual. Feeling sea sick and throwing up whatever I eat. Are you going to change clothes?"

He grimaces at my words, then checks his extraordinarily expensive watch and shakes his head. Of course, he isn't. He's Mr. On Time.

"No. I don't want to be late. Dr. Greene agreed to this after-hours appointment and I'd rather not keep her waiting."

He helps me into my coat, and placing a hand on the small of my back, leads me towards the elevator. Kate is on our heels but doesn't utter a word. There's a bubble of tension around us. We all remain quiet as the elevator descends down to the parking garage. It feels like one of us is going to the gallows. The door opens, and I blow out the breath I'd been holding.

Kate grabs me into a hug. "I love you," she tells me. "If you need to talk after the appointment, just call."

I pull away expecting to see her green eyes misty, but they aren't, thank God. Nodding, I kiss her on the cheek. Before we both know it, her security detail is beside her. Christian put a female and male CPO on Kate, and surprisingly, she didn't complain. She's been afraid since our apartment was torched, but for some reason, Kate's been jumpy as hell since I was discharged from the hospital. No, actually, I was still in the hospital when she began acting out of sorts.

"I love you, too, and I will. Don't worry about me. Everything is going to work out fine." I'm really saying that to myself.

"Ana, we need to go," Christian starts. "Thanks for spending the day with her, Kate."

That underlying current of dislike is always there whenever Kate and Christian are around each other. I've come to accept that these two are never going to get along. At least I now know why.

"I'm always here for my girl. No thanks required."

Before anyone can say anything else, she's whisked away by two hulking bodies, and Christian is opening the door to the SUV for me. Thankfully, it's warm inside. Taylor is driving with Sawyer riding shotgun. Per the norm, I smile, and they nod. Christian's rule of no familiarity with the staff is crazy. My God, they know every detail of our lives. Why can't they call me by my name? Rules, rules, rules. It's always rules.

Heavy, dark clouds meet us as we leave the parking garage. An annoying mist of rain is falling from the sky and it matches my mood. I'm trying to remember if I've been in a good mood since I woke up in that damn hospital bed, and I recall New York City - prior to Christian's freaking out and dragging me to a hospital over a panic attack. I was happy in New York City. Perhaps I should move there. I'd be far removed from my problems, the fear, and uncertainty here in Seattle. But I'm quick to realize that there's one thing that I can't escape.

"You should have worn gloves," Christian says, breaking my thoughts. He's holding my hand. I hadn't noticed he'd taken it.

"No, I'm fine. We're only walking from the curb to Dr. Greene's office door."

"I don't want you to get sick, Ana. Your body is already weak from morning sickness."

I sigh. "Christian, germs make people sick, not the lack of cold winter apparel. And it's all day sickness, remember? I wish it were only morning sickness."

"I'm sorry, baby. I know you must be miserable."

"Not all of the time. . . Only when my head is in the toilet," I joke, even though non-stop vomiting is anything but funny.

"Maybe there's something Dr. Greene can prescribe to stop it."

"I wish. I'm not sure there's a drug like that that's safe for a pregnant woman."

Christian squeezes my hand and turns to look at me. His eyes are wide, so wide that I'm momentarily confused. Then I replay my words. I'm sure he thinks I've made a decision to continue this pregnancy, and I think his words were bait. He wanted to get my reaction. I'm not sure if I should say anything or not. Christian says he wants this; he's assured me that he's accepted the prospect of fatherhood. I'm just not so sure he's being honest with me. Every lie he told me permeates everything he now says. I can push away all of my fears about having a child, and the multitude of reasons I can give to have an abortion, and I'm still left with the uncertainty of Christian's promises.

I honestly don't know what I want to do. The scenarios in my head fluctuate every two seconds. At this point, I honestly wish someone would just tell me what to do. Despite all of the months of lying to me, I still love Christian with all of my heart. I've come to understand fear brought about his rash decision, however, he should have stopped playing with my head and told me the truth. I love him enough that I'd spend the rest of my life with him and be the mother of his children; I'm still on the fence if I want to do be both of those things right now. I've always wanted children. I've always envisioned myself as a mother, but am I ready to be one now? I'm only twenty-two, I want a career – I know I had one, but I can't remember it. Would I even make a good mother? I know my heads screwed up. I've accepted that. What if my heads so fucked that I'm a horrible mother with mood swings and constant anxiety? What if I'm holding the baby when one of those episodes hit and I drop him or her?

What if I'm just looking for a reason to end this pregnancy? Would having an abortion now be my way of paying back Christian for what he's done? Is my decision now colored with my anger? Would ending this pregnancy just now be the ultimate and final fuck you? I just don't know.

I smile at Christian, not knowing what else I should do. I hope it looks like a smile and not a grimace. It must not because he grasps my hand tighter, and we drive to Dr. Greene's practice in relative silence.

Both Taylor and Sawyer follow us into an empty waiting room. I understand we need their protection, but tagging along at an appointment with my gynecologist is embarrassing. I'm surprised neither of them does a sweep of the place, but they plant themselves by the door – the one Taylor locked behind us. Will this extreme babysitting end once they find Hyde and Williams, or is it the norm in the life of a billionaire and his girlfriend?

Dr. Greene, immaculate as always, emerges from her office and gives Christian a disapproving look. I'm sure it's because he all but demanded she sees me after hours, and knowing Christian, he probably paid her to do so.

"Good evening, Ana," she says, ignoring Christian altogether, "Your shot failed I hear. It was probably from a bad lot. Follow me into one of the exam rooms."

Before I can respond, she turns on her very high heels and leads us down a hall. Once inside, she hands me a paper gown and a plastic container. I frown at her.

"You know what to do with this," she briskly tells me while handing me the container. "Since you have on pants, you'll have to take them off and cover your bottom with this. Not couture, but necessary for the ultrasound. You can keep your sweater on."

Ultrasound.

The word is bouncing around my mind as I wobble my way to the restroom. I'd forgotten Dr. Berman said I'd have to have an ultrasound no matter if I continued the pregnancy or not. That doesn't matter; I'm terrified. I'm not only terrified of what I'll see, I'm also terrified of how I'm going to feel.

I hear Christian and Dr. Greene conversing quietly as I return to the exam room. She points at the exam table and Christian helps me lie down. This piece of paper that's covering me is thin and this office is cold. Dr. Greene must notice I'm trembling and places a warm blanket over me. I'm not sure if I'm trembling because I'm cold or afraid.

"We know the blood serum test they did while you were in the hospital confirmed you're pregnant, but I'm doing one to make sure nothing's happened in the past two weeks," she says, dipping a small white stick into my urine sample.

"What kind of changes are you referring to?" Christian asks her. I can hear the alarm in his voice.

She looks up at him, her eyes serious. "I'm simply double checking, Mr. Grey." Dr. Greene doesn't like Christian Grey one bit.

The stick immediately turns pink as we all knew it would.

"Well, Ana, since there's no question you're pregnant, let's see how pregnant you are. Excuse me while I dispose of this." She nods at the plastic container and quickly hustles from the room.

"Calm down, Christian. And stop giving Dr. Greene dirty looks."

"How can you expect me to be calm, Ana? I don't know how to handle this shit," he replies in a gruff whisper.

I scowl at him. "You don't know how to handle this? You aren't on an exam table half naked, draped with a huge piece of paper and not knowing why. Calm down, for my sake, please? And will you please stop fidgeting? You're making me a nervous wreck."

Dr. Greene clicks her way back into the room. She places another blanket across the lower part of my body, then pulls the ultrasound machine closer to the table. After a few clicks, the screen comes to life, and she quickly types in my name.

"Ana, I need you to scoot down a bit and bend your knees, then part them wide," she orders.

"Why?" I mutter, not moving. I look up at Christian and he looks as uncomfortable as I feel.

"Because it's too early to do an external ultrasound, I'm afraid. This one is a transvaginal ultrasound." Dr. Greene holds up a long probe and pulls a condom over it and then lubricates it.

"Will this hurt Ana?" Christian asks. I look at him furiously running a hand through his hair.

"Absolutely not. Now scoot down, Ana, and keep yourself covered with the blanket."

I do as she says after taking Christian's hand. The one he isn't using to tear his hair out with.

"We don't have a missed period to calculate how far along you are, but your blood serum levels indicated four to five weeks. Ana, please relax and we'll take a look," she says matter-of-factly.

Christian's finally stopped tearing at his hair and offers me a reassuring smile. I don't return it, I'm too busy feeling Dr. Greene slowly and gently inserting the probe. It doesn't hurt; it's uncomfortable. Slowly, Dr. Greene moves the probe around, which in return, increases my discomfort and anxiety.

Christian and I are watching the screen, which is nothing but gray fuzz. He's holding his breath and squeezing the hell out of my hand. I don't think I'm even breathing. Fear and anticipation have mingled and is coursing through my mind, confusing me. I'm ready to turn my head away and not look when Dr. Greene speaks.

"There we go," she murmurs. She hits a button and it causes the screen to freeze. Taking the mouse, she uses the cursor to circle a tiny black dot in that mass of gray screen. "I know it doesn't look like much, but that black dot is your baby. Six weeks, I would say." She slowly removes the wand and hands me paper towels to clean myself. "Would you like me to print out a picture for you?"

My head is still tilted as I stare stunned at the tiny black dot on the screen. I'm too stunned to answer her, and I'm not sure how long the silence drags before Christian shakes my hand to get my attention. I take in his face and shake the cobwebs from my mind. His gray eyes are beseeching me to tell her yes. He looks from me to the screen, and back again. I'm nearly choking on my spit, as even my throat has ceased to function properly.

I slowly nod, still not speaking. I hear Christian deeply exhale as Dr. Greene presses yet another button and out comes the picture. She hands it to him, who stares at it unwaveringly. His hands are shaking. My insides are quaking, and I feel unsteady from the heavy emotions that have landed upon me.

"Congratulations, Ana, Mr. Grey," she says, looking solely at me as she speaks. "Clean up and then meet me in my office. We'll go over a few things."

"Yes, thank you," Christian distractedly replies.

It's like I'm a boat that's caught on choppy waters. I'm overwhelmed and reeling, and a million of other feelings that I can't name surge through me. I was expecting confusion and uncertainty, but not this. . . warm need to protect what's captured on the picture in Christian's hands. The confusion and uncertainty are gone.

Once she's scurried out of the room, Christian helps me off of the table. I wipe the messy gel off and dress. I'm turned away as I pull up my leggings, but I feel his eyes on me. I swallow hard before quietly facing him. His expression is blank and eyes guarded.

I hold my arm out to him and don't have to say a word. He silently passes me the picture of our baby. Now I feel it. The mixed chromosomes Christian and I meshed are captured in this picture in my hands. I can feel our entangled DNA. A part of this complicated man that I love is inside me. That black dot is a baby. It's our baby. A precious baby created by our love, because in spite of everything, we've always been in love. I honestly don't believe there will ever be a day we won't be, no matter what happens.

With trembling hands, I hold onto the little print out and bury my eyes in it. One day that black dot will be in my arms. I don't realize I'm crying until I see a tear land on the picture. Christian rushes to my side and pulls me into his arms. He smells so good, like his body wash and a scent like no other. It's more than comforting. It's safe, and his arms feel like home.

"It's real now, isn't it?" he whispers.

"Yeah," I whisper in return.

"Ana, do you. . . What are you going to do?" The hope in his tremulous voice is unmistakable.

"I'm going to continue. . . I mean, abortion is off the table now. So far off the table. I want to carry that black dot for the next eight months, or however far along I am. It's our baby, Christian. I want this baby," I answer, barely choking out the words against his chest.

Christian's arms tighten around me and he's muttering something inaudible into my hair. Then, my tears come swiftly and wrack my body. They are tears of relief and resolve. I wanted someone to make the decision of having a child or not and someone did – our baby. My mind will never be the same as it was, but that doesn't matter. My soul has stepped up and shown me which direction I should be taking. My life will never be the same and I'm rocked by how happy that makes me.

A white handkerchief is suddenly in my hand, and I dab my face dry. I step out of Christian's arms and look up at him. His eyes are bright and watering. Our silent staring contest lasts a few moments before he cups my face in his hands. My mouth opens to apologize, but he places a finger on my lips.

"Don't, Anastasia. I understand why you felt so unsure, fuck, so did I. I know you've been scared, and I've been fucking out of my mind from fear. I'm still scared shitless. But never feel like you owe me an apology, please. I know it was your choice and your body. There's no way that I could hold that against you." Christian's words are hoarse and when he chastely kisses me, I can taste the salt from his tears on my mouth.

"You're going to be an amazing father," I tell him. "You don't have a single reason to be afraid. I'm more afraid of what kind of mother I'll be. I'm not sure if I've ever held a baby, and what if I pass out and—"

"You'll be the mother every child deserves. You're kind and love unconditionally. You're perfect," he breaks into my panicked ridden torrent of words. "I love you more than anything in this world, Anastasia."

Those three words cause me to melt inside and I shyly smile at him.

"I love you, too, but I'm far from perfect. I don't know why you believe that."

Christian's face is lit up as he smiles and shakes his head. "You wouldn't be able to love me if you weren't perfect, Anastasia Steele."

"Quit calling me Anastasia," I say, my voice muffled as I pick up the task of wiping my face.

His smile broadens. "Are you ready to go talk with the good doctor?" he asks.

"Let me get my boots back on." I grab his arm to balance myself as I pull them on.

I stand and he bends down, speaking directly into my ear in a low voice. "Did all of that lube run out of you, baby?" Christian bites my ear before straightening to his full height.

I playfully gasp as I slap his shoulder. The electricity his breath lays on my ear runs through me. "Don't say things like that in here! Dr. Greene can hear you."

Laughing, he pushes me by the shoulders to Dr. Greene's office. She's sitting behind her desk waiting for us and has several pamphlets before her.

"Have a seat." She gestures at the chair in front of the desk, and Christian takes his jacket off and drapes it over the back of his chair.

"We'll make another appointment in four weeks' time." She looks up from an appointment card. "Any particular day?"

She's staring at me expectantly, but my mind is still reeling and anxiety is blooming inside of me. I'm doing my best not to crumple up the ultrasound picture in my hand. I'm overwhelmed. I'm an overflowing sink. I'm struck with the reality that I'm going to become a mother and I'm frightened out of my mind.

"Any day is fine, Dr. Greene," answers Christian when I don't reply. He glances at me. "Are you all right, Ana?" he asks me.

"Something wrong, Ana?" Dr. Greene seems to be inspecting me, a concerned expression on her face.

"No. I'm fine," I say, looking at them. I can feel my face burning. This sudden realization has turned my blood into static.

"Good. Mr. Grey, I suppose the same time is convenient for you?" she asks Christian, emphasizing the last two words.

"Please." I'm shocked that he isn't arrogantly smirking at her.

"In the meantime, Ana, you'll need to start a course of prenatal vitamins and folic acid. There's no reason for me to write you a prescription for them. Ones over the counter are fine. These leaflets stress the do's and don'ts of the early weeks of pregnancy," she continues.

She hands me the leaflets, but Christian reaches over and takes them. He must sense my growing anxiety. His free hand settles on one of my legs.

"Dr. Greene, is there anything you can prescribe Ana for morning sickness? Hers seems excessive in my opinion."

Her eyebrows raise and she stands. "Explain excessive." She points beyond her office to a scale up against a far wall. "Ana, let's weigh you. Take your coat off first."

I give Christian a dirty look and slide back out of my coat to stand on the scale.

"Don't step on it until it zeros," Dr. Greene replies.

I get on the scale and we all watch the number settle. One-hundred-fourteen. I've lost three pounds.

"Do you recall how much you weighed when you were in the hospital, Ana?" she asks.

"One-hundred-seventeen. Three pounds in two weeks isn't too bad, is it?"

"In my opinion, yes, it is. How often are you throwing up on any given day?"

"Often," Christian answers for me.

Dr. Greene's brows raise and she continues looking directly at me. I put my coat back on.

"Ana?" she presses.

"I'm not sure how many times in a single day, but I usually get sick after every meal or snack. Sometimes when I haven't eaten anything."

We're still standing out in the hallway, and Taylor and Sawyer are within earshot.

"I suggest small meals throughout the day. Avoid adverse smells that send you running to the toilet. Also, drink plenty of fluids. I don't want you to become dehydrated and end up in the hospital with an IV in your arm again. If this gets worse or doesn't ease up in a week, I want to know." She's so matter-of-fact standing here in a designer pants suit and perfectly made-up face.

"Okay, of course. I'm quite sick of hospital beds," I tell her, shaking my head.

"I'm sure. Do you want me to write you a prescription that will help with nausea?"

"Yes, I'll take anything that would help."

"Wait here." She goes back into her office, I suppose to write the prescription.

I'm scowling as I look up at Christian. "Will you please stop answering for me? I can communicate what my body is doing better than you." I whisper so she can't hear.

"I just want her to know how severe it is. You being this sick can't be good for you or the baby, Ana. And you looked pale and were shaking. I was worried."

I can't help but smile. "You're always worried about me, and I love it. Just don't try to take my voice away from me, all right? I'm a grown woman. Yeah, I was about to have a panic attack, but it settled down. I'm fine."

Clicking heels alert us to Dr. Greene's approaching presence. She hands me the prescription. "Call if this doesn't help, I mean it. If you're not any better in a week, I expect to know," she says.

Christian and I are both nodding. "Absolutely, Dr. Greene. Is there anything else we need to know?" I ask.

"If you start spotting or have any bleeding, go to the emergency room right away. Even if the spotting or bleeding isn't accompanied with pain. Any other questions, Ana? Otherwise, I'll see you in four weeks and hopefully nail down an estimated due date."

Her words obviously upset Christian, so I grab his elbow, hoping to shut him up before he opens his mouth.

"No, we don't have any other questions, Dr. Greene. Thank you, and I appreciate that you saw me after hours," I tell her, trying my best to nudge Christian towards the door.

"You're welcome, Ana. Remember to start the vitamins and folic acid today. Good evening to the both of you," she answers, offering me a genuine smile.

We let Taylor and Sawyer exit the building first. They look every which way possible. I think Sawyer even looks up at the sky.

"Sir," Taylor says, nodding at his boss. I suppose that means it's okay for us to leave. Both men flank us, and Sawyer holds the back door open while Taylor gets behind the wheel. I climb in first, hurrying because it's begun to rain harder than it had been. Peeking out of the vehicle, I watch as Dr. Greene locks the office door behind us.

Christian reaches across me and snaps my seatbelt. Pausing, he kisses me, I can feel a smile on his lips. I can't resist tugging on his unruly hair. He pulls away and reaches to take the ultrasound picture from me. Before he takes it and Taylor cranks the SUV, Christian exclaims, "Shit!"

"What's the matter?" I ask.

"Taylor, stay put. I left my jacket in there and my phone is in it," he tells his number one man.

"Sir, Sawyer will go get it." Taylor is telling him, but Christian's already jumped out of the SUV. "Sawyer, go with him." Taylor sounds irritated.

Christian slams the back door and I watch him knocking on the glass door of Dr. Greene's office. She'd locked it and has probably already left from the back door. I know she parks her car in the lot behind her office building. Christian and Sawyer are getting soaked, and Christian looks like he's about to blow. His impatience, mixed with standing in a cold downpour, is pissing him off. Great. He'll be in a bad mood for the rest of the evening.

Suddenly, I hear a phone vibrating, and it's close to where I'm sitting. Glancing around, I see that Taylor is looking around the back seat as well. Obviously, he heard it, too.

The phone, Christian's phone, is wedged, face down between the seats and continues to vibrate. I pick it up and turn it over so I can see the screen.

"Elena" is flashing on the screen. My eyes dart up and meet Taylor's, who turns around in his seat. Elena. My stomach churns. Who is this, and could she be one of Christian's former submissives? Shit, it keeps vibrating and I don't know if I should answer it or not. Oh, fuck this.

"Hello," I say. My tone sounds much more confident than I feel. I look out the window. Christian is now practically knocking Dr. Greene's door down.

For a second or two, all I hear is silence and it makes me uneasy. Who is this woman and why is she calling Christian? My imagination is running wild and the scenarios I'm having are making me jealous.

"Hello," I repeat. My tone is glacial. "Who is this?"

"Hello, is this Christian's phone?" A woman's soft voice startles me. Now I'm hot from jealousy. Who the hell is this?

"Who's speaking?" Like I'm going to say, "Yes, this is Christian Grey's cell phone."

"Mrs. Lincoln," she replies. She sounds hesitant to reveal who she is.

Lincoln? Elena Lincoln, I suppose since 'Elena' was the name on the cell's display screen. I've heard Grace say that an Elena Lincoln is a friend of hers. I also remember Kate, Mia, and Elliot telling me this woman was nearby when I passed out at Grace's birthday party. They also didn't hide the fact they disliked her.

But why is she calling Christian?

Another glance toward Dr. Greene's office shows her unlocking the door for a very angry Christian.

"Mrs. Elena Lincoln?" I ask. A very odd feeling is touching me.

"Yes," she begins tentatively. "Is this Anastasia?"

"Yes, can I help you?" I curtly ask. I'm not sure why I feel like I should be so guarded about this Mrs. Lincoln, but I'm done with ignoring my feelings.

"I've hoped to speak to you. Grace speaks so highly of you, and I've wanted to tell you how happy I am that you've recovered from your accident, as well as your spell at Grace's birthday party."

I look from the closed door of Dr. Greene's office and catch a quick look from Taylor in the rearview window. He looks away.

"Thank you," I reply, not knowing what else to say, other than asking why Grace's friend is calling her son. And why her number is programmed in Christian's phone.

"I'm so happy to know how happy Christian is. Grace and Carrick are simply thrilled that you're in his life. Grace comments on the change in Christian every time that I see her."

Good, that's nice, and everyone is happy, however, why is this woman telling me this? Why is she calling Christian? God, hurry up and tell me before Christian comes storming out of Greene's office.

"Christian's unavailable. Would you like to leave a message?"

She doesn't answer straight away. "Just that I called and I need to speak to him," she says softly.

About what?

"I'll tell Christian." I'm close to being rude. I suppose because I'm not used to women calling my boyfriend. Especially one who's old enough to be his mother.

"Thank you, Anastasia. I hope to see you soon. Goodbye."

"Bye." I think I hit the phone's end button before she heard me.

The phone is still in my hand when the door flies open and a very wet Christian hurls himself in the backseat swearing loudly.

"Mother fucking phone isn't in my jacket. We looked everywhere in that goddamned place for it. Shit!"

I wince from his yelling and hold up his cell phone. He stares at it like it's the first time he's ever seen it.

"It was in here?" he asks.

"Wedged in the seats."

He grabs it from my hand and gives me a dirty look.

"Did you ever think of calling Sawyer to tell him it was in the car? It would have saved us from getting soaked and then tearing Greene's office apart. Taylor, why didn't you call and tell him?" Christian's being brusque and rude, and I refuse to have Taylor eviscerated.

"Stop it, Christian. Quit acting like the world is ending. I found it right before you came busting out of the building," I lie.

"Fucking bullshit. Greene's a fucking smart ass. It took every bit of self-restraint to keep from firing her as your doctor. I think I'll find another one for you."

"You'll do no such thing. I like and trust Dr. Greene. You can hate her all you want, but she's still going to be my doctor. God, what's your problem? So you got wet and had to wait for her to open the door. Big deal."

He rests his head back and closes his eyes. I know he's trying to calm himself down, but this isn't something that should have him so worked up. He can act just like a teenager at times. A teenager who doesn't get their way and throws hissy fits.

Christian opens his eyes and turns his head towards me. His expression is wary.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked to you that way. I apologize. Forgive me?" He kisses my hand.

"Just. You seriously need to work on some coping skills. I don't see how you've made it this far in life behaving the way you do. Were you rude to Dr. Greene?"

He smirks. "Just."

"Christian!" I exclaim.

"I wasn't overtly rude to her. She understood I was frustrated. Don't worry, I left her unscathed, I promise." He's smiling a boyish grin, and I have to return his smile. I also have a question to ask him.

"Who's Elena Lincoln?"

Christian's grin slips and he's looking at me in a way I can't decipher.

"Why do you ask?" He sits up straight in his seat.

"She called you."

"When?"

My odd feeling has resurfaced. I'm watching discomfort overtake Christian's face and body language.

"While you were inside Dr. Greene's."

"You answered my phone?"

"Why wouldn't I? I've answered it before." I reply.

Christian doesn't answer, and I feel his hostility like static electricity. What's this about? It can't be because I answered his phone. I've done it several times and he didn't care. Yet here he sits, emitting hot anger. He looks out the window.

"What's wrong with you now?"

He loudly sighs. "Nothing's wrong, Ana."

"You're lying. Christian, look at me."

He does so reluctantly.

"It would be helpful if you'd tell me what's wrong. I thought we promised there would be no more lies." I tell him.

I don't want to dredge up the past, but I can feel it climbing up and halfway out of my throat. I swallow hard, trying to stop the past from spilling out of me and all over our lives.

"We did," he replies. Sullen and petulant Christian Grey is frustrating as hell.

I thought we'd made a breakthrough in our relationship, bonding over our unborn child. But here Christian sits, closed off and visibly angry for some reason, and I don't believe it's because he's wet. It seems like it's always tedious and vacillation when it comes to Christian's fucking mood swings. Goddamn, I'm sick of this.

Is this because I answered his phone? Surely not. I've answered it before and he didn't care at all. His attitude didn't change until I told him his mother's friend had called. Why would that make him mad? Doesn't he like this woman? What if he does like this woman? No, that couldn't be it. He said I'm the only woman he'd had a conventional relationship with, plus, I don't think he'd be involved with a woman his mother's age – or her friend. Plus, I seriously doubt a woman in Grace's upper crust inner circle being a Submissive or into BDSM. That's ludicrous.

I watch the rain splatter on the car window and feel unsettled, although I don't understand why. I also don't understand why Christian would have a friend of Grace's phone number programmed into his phone. That doesn't make sense.

"Christian, why was a friend of your mother calling you?" I ask his profile.

"What did she want?" he deflects.

I narrow my eyes. "I have no idea. She told me to tell you that she called and for you to return her phone call."

He slides his phone into his pants pocket and finally looks at me.

"Is she also your friend? I mean, is she your friend as well as your mother's?"

"No."

Ah. Now I understand why this is so strange.

"Only people close to you are programmed into your phone by their first name." I sound much calmer than I feel.

"What?" He's genuinely puzzled.

"I'm referring to the people in your contacts and the way they're listed. I'm Ana, Kate's 'Kavanagh', Elliot's 'Lel', Ros is 'Ros', Mia's 'Mia'—"

Christian's staring at me intently. Watching me like a hawk. It's disconcerting.

"True," he interrupts. "What are you getting at, Ana?" He's being evasive. For some reason, he feels it necessary to appear unaffected.

I shrug. "I'm not sure. All I'm saying is that your personal lawyer, personal accountant, all of your business associates, are listed by their first and last name. Even Claude, which I don't understand, considering he's pretty damn close to you."

"You've gone through my phone?" He turns his entire body towards me, and defensiveness hardens his tone.

"No. But I have seen the display screen when people call you. I've never snooped through your phone, or anything else of yours to be exact. I just know because I've got two eyes and those two eyes have seen your phone ring."

I unsnap my seatbelt to fully face him, otherwise, I'd feel at a disadvantage. Christian's intimidating even when he's not trying to be.

"No, she's not my friend. Yes, she used to be my friend." I know he's watching for a reaction. "I was a silent partner in her chain of hair salons, but I gifted my shares in the chain months ago. To be exact, I ended our business partnership while you were in a coma." His voice is low, soft, and calm.

Hair salons? Christian Grey, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc was in partnership with a chain of beauty shops? A multi-billion-dollar company was involved with a chain of beauty shops?

"Why would your company have its name attached to a beauty shop?"

Christian sighs. "It was a sideline and my company wasn't specifically involved. I became a silent partner as a favor."

"A favor for your mother's friend?"

"Yes."

"Why isn't she your friend anymore? Why did you end your business partnership?" My heart is thumping hard. I don't like this conversation for some reason.

"Because you asked me to. You couldn't stand her, and asked me to end all ties to her."

That isn't what I was expecting to hear, and I can't imagine telling someone who they can or can't be friends with. Jesus, what's wrong with this woman? I didn't like her, neither does Kate and her mother, nor Elliot and Mia.

The only noise in the SUV is the heat pouring from the vents and the windshield wipers. Taylor and Sawyer must feel like uncomfortable flies on a wall.

"Why didn't I like her? I can't imagine asking anyone to end a friendship. It seems like everyone else that we know don't like her either. If she's so horrible, why is your mother her friend?" I ask him.

The ultrasound picture is on the seat between us, and I'm fighting the urge to dig my hands into my thighs. Christian's eyebrows furrow.

"Are you okay, Ana?" I hear alarm and concern.

"I'm on the verge of a full-blown panic attack, but I'd still appreciate for you to answer my questions," I whisper.

Christian pauses, and in that instant, Taylor's voice interrupts whatever it was that he was about to say.

"Sir, Mrs. Jones just alerted Sawyer that Detective Clarke is in the lobby of Escala. He's requesting to see you."

Christian scowls at the back of Taylor's head.

"What the fuck does he want?" he asks.

"I don't know, sir. He only said he'd like to see you."

"Fuck."

For the first time, I take in my surroundings. We're turning into the parking garage at Escala. Well, that conversation was cut short. Sighing, I pick up the ultrasound picture and gather my purse. I'm with Christian; what does Clarke want?

"Call the desk and tell them to let the asshole up. Be sure to let Mrs. Jones know he's coming. Shit," Christian mutters angrily.

"What do you suppose he's doing here? Maybe they've found Hyde or that awful woman," I say hurriedly.

"I have no idea. I haven't heard from him in two weeks. Damn prick."

I nearly leap out and over Christian as he holds the door open for me. I've got to know if they've captured one of them. Please, God, please.

"Hang on, baby. Wait. Don't get your hopes up. We'd have already gotten word if the PD had arrested either of them."

"You would have? How?"

"Because something that big wouldn't stay under cover for very long," he replies.

The elevator ride to the penthouse seems slower than usual. I catch sight of myself in the mirrors surrounding us and take in how I look like a pile of pale shit. I'll never understand what Christian sees in me.

I see Clarke before the elevator doors fully open. He's standing in the middle of the large living room, hands in the pockets of his raincoat, and staring out the massive windows that overlook Seattle. He turns when he hears us.

Gail hurries over and takes my coat and Christian's wet jacket. She leaves the room as fast as she entered it. Sawyer heads to the security office, but Taylor remains in the room.

"Detective Clarke," Christian almost politely says.

"Miss Steele, Mr. Grey, Taylor," Clarke begins.

"Have a seat, Detective Clarke." Christian turns to me. "Baby, go upstairs and rest. I know you must be tired," he whispers to me.

I look at him incredulously. "Excuse me? I'm not going anywhere," I whisper back.

"Anastasia," he continues, but I ignore him and sit on the couch. I hear him exhale.

"I hope you're feeling better, Miss Steele," Clarke says. His eyes are tight and he appears tense.

"I do, thank you. Have you found either of them?" I just jump in and ask.

Clarke's eyes widen a fraction and his lips are a thin white line.

"No, I'm afraid not, Miss Steele. But we're actively looking for Miss Williams. We still haven't gotten the first lead on her. She seems to have gone underground."

"What can I do for you, Clarke?" Christian barks impatiently. "You came here to tell us you don't know shit about Williams? Have there been any more sightings of Hyde?"

The mention of Hyde's name makes me sick. I may not remember the man, but the photographs I've seen of him gave me the creeps. Even in a picture, his eyes are hard and cruel.

I push my purse behind me and am still holding the ultrasound picture. I look at it and try to concentrate on it – something good and full of love. I don't want the image of either Jack Hyde or Leila Williams in my head right now.

"No further sightings of Hyde, Mr. Grey. I wish I was here to tell you something, but I'm actually here to see if you've gotten anywhere in your search of Williams."

Christian stiffens, and I sense Taylor walking further into the living room.

Christian turns to me. "Anastasia, please. You don't need to hear this. Clarke's told us he doesn't have any new information. Go rest, baby. This won't take too long." His voice is quiet and he's impatient for me to leave the room.

"No, Christian. I want to hear this. This is my life you're discussing, so I should be a part of it. I'm not going anywhere."

Christian's gray eyes are galvanized steel.

"Clarke, let's have this discussion tomorrow at my office. Come around noon,"

Christian orders.

I've heard him speak this way before, but usually, it's directed at those when there's a problem of a magnitude that I can't fathom. I'm taken aback and know he's hiding something from me.

"That isn't an option for me, Grey. All I want to know is if your guys have figured out how Williams got into the hospital. We've looked at every CCTV nearby, and come up empty handed every time. It's like she's a ghost."

Clarke's words sound like a car crash. Williams got into the hospital. What in the hell is he talking about? I turn to Christian and Taylor, gaping at them. Surely not. Christian looks livid and ready to explode, and Taylor's face is as impassive as usual.

"Clarke, now's not a good time," Christian grits through clenched teeth.

Clarke stands, appearing puzzled. His eyes are darting amongst us.

I stand on shaky legs and hold up a hand. "What do you mean, Detective?" I'm barely able to push the words out of my mouth. I've asked a question that I already know the answer to.

No one answers me. It's like a Mexican standoff, and Clarke seems to have realized something – I know nothing.

"When was Leila Williams in a hospital? Which hospital?" I whip around to Christian, pointing a finger at him. "Harborview. Two weeks ago, wasn't it? Christian?" I've considerably raised my voice. "Someone had better answer me. I deserve to know."

Christian takes a step towards me, but I take a step back. Panic floats across his face. His eyes are desperate. I tilt my head at him, thinking I might not see him surrounded by more lies, because that's what I see – lies. Even if they're lies by omission. Haven't all of his lies been by omission?

He reaches for my arm, but I immediately jerk it away. "Ana, calm down and I'll tell you what happened, all right?"

Those words hit my ears and an ominous feeling begins working its way up my gut, tightening my chest, creating awareness that I can barely breathe. I know what's happening; it doesn't mean that I can stop it from happening. My heart is racing and I'm beginning to sweat.

"Christian, tell me," I plead, my voice is raspy. My palms are clammy and I feel like I'm about to die. "Please, someone tell me."

"Ana, sit down. Please, sit down and I'll tell you. Baby, you've got to calm down first."

I'm nearly in Christian's lap before I know what's happened. He's pushing my hair off of my sweaty forehead. I try to slow my breathing as my eyes are begging him to tell me what Clarke's talking about. I want to know what he's kept from me.

"We didn't tell you because we knew you'd react the very way you are now. You don't need to get worked up, baby. That's why no one told you," he says.

We. No one.

"Tell me." It sounds more like a gasp than a word.

Christian sighs and curses under his breath. "The day after you were admitted to Harborview two weeks ago, Leila Williams was spotted inside. We didn't know it was her until she had fled from the unit."

"The unit?"

"Yes. The unit you were on."

It's like a spider is crawling up my naked back.

"She made it up to the floor that I was on?"

Clarke looks like he's stepped in horse shit, and Taylor looks like he wants to kill him.

"Yes, she was on the same floor. But she didn't get anywhere near your room, I swear. We weren't alerted until she ran off."

"Who's we?" I ask.

Christian blows out an inhaled breath and pushes his hair away from his eyes.

"Me, security, the police. . . and everyone else there that morning," he answers reluctantly.

"Everyone? Who all knows about this? Who's been keeping this from me?"

"My family, Ray—"

"Kate," I whisper softly.

That's why she's been so jumpy and so malleable when it came to her security. She knew all along that Leila fucking Williams got near me and has kept it from me. My best friend. Everyone I fucking know has been keeping this from me, including my dad.

"Okay, now that I know I can't trust anyone I know, you can tell me what happened."

"You can trust—"

"Oh, the hell I can! We'll discuss trust later. Right now, I want to know what happened." I move away from him.

"Elliot, Kate, Mia and Ethan were coming back to your room. I think they went down to the cafeteria or somewhere. They passed the nurses station to get to your room, and as they walked by, they heard an altercation between two nurses." He stops and looks at Taylor helplessly. "When we were standing outside of your room, they told us what happened and it sounded suspicious. Sawyer went to the nurses station to find out what had occurred and also showed the charge nurse a picture of Leila Williams. She confirmed that it was her."

"What kind of altercation?"

Someone sighs loudly, it could be Clarke.

Christian takes my hands. "Ana, Leila was dressed in scrubs. She was pretending to be a nurse, but the charge nurse didn't recognize her and wanted to see some identification. They argued, and when the charge nurse was about to call security, Leila fled. The argument caught Elliot's attention, and he told us what he'd seen."

"She was going to try to get to me by pretending to be a nurse." My words are flat.

Christian shakes his head vehemently. "You had security at your door. They had a list of the staff that could get into your room, and they all know what Williams looks like. Leila Williams wouldn't have ever gotten near you. I'm not sure what she was trying to do. She knew you were flanked by security," he replies.

"She was trying to get our attention, show us that she could get close enough to us to do harm. She was trying to prove a point and it worked." The words are a squeak from an angry and terrified throat.

I look at the black and white grainy picture of my baby and my eyes begin to water. Picking it up, I stand and pierce Christian's eyes with my own. I'm not sure how I feel about him. Him, or everyone else in my life. I understand their need to protect me, but I don't understand the logic of keeping this from me. They had to know that I'd eventually find out.

"I'm going to bed," I murmur to no one in particular.

"Do you want me to come up with you, baby?" Christian's alarmed voice asks.

I numbly shake my head at him and put one foot in front of the other to walk past him and up the stairs. I know he stood up and I hear him saying my name, but I don't answer. I walk to the door of the guest bedroom, and once inside, I close and lock it.

I place my hand across my stomach and begin to weep.


	15. Chapter 15

_~Chapter Fifteen~_

 _Ana_

* * *

Betrayal is simple.

One act; one deception.

Chronic lies that spread to a critical mass, and lives are dismantled, disfigured, and relationships are defiled.

A lover cheats, a friend stabs you in the back, those who are supposed to love you, rob you of your inner strength. Perhaps one tells themselves their secrecy is for the good of the one they are lying to – betraying. Perhaps one is too scared of the consequences that will befall them once their lover, friend, or family member finds out that they are keeping secrets. Perhaps they think one is too weak and fragile to know the truth, and use this as a balm to assuage the guilt they feel. Maybe their egos are so big that they feel omnipotent and believe that their decisions are the best ones. Maybe, just maybe, that weak and fragile loved one isn't weak or fragile at all. Let's say they aren't exactly who they used to be, but that doesn't mean they've lost the ability to know what's going on around them – what affects their life. Let's say the wronged individual is about to take their power back and regain control of their life.

I'm fed up with the machinations behind my back; "We have to do everything to protect poor Ana's already broken mind." My mind isn't broken. I may not remember shit, I may break out in unexpected fits of panic, but I'm still the Anastasia Steele I was before I met Christian. True, I was shy and reserved, in those years, but I had no reason to show my inner strength. That Anastasia is still present, even though she's covered in a light smattering of gauze. It's time for me to pull off that gauze and reclaim what I've given away freely to those I love and trusted. Everyone in my life must look at me as a husk of my former self, but I'm not. I'm not exactly who I was before, but to be considered a husk, is others underestimating me, and now, I have someone else to protect. That life is more important than mine or Christian's, in fact, that life is me and Christian fused as one. Anyone underestimating that I'll do anything to protect what I'm cradling inside of me is stupid or doesn't really know me at all.

For the past two weeks, I've been ill and physically weak, but my intuition was coming back to life, yet I ignored it. I watched others act a bit different, too protective, and much too jumpy, but I didn't ask questions. I was touched by a perception that something around me had been altered, that a new spice had been added to a recipe that Gail was cooking. I should have studied my intuition to have found out what had changed. But now I won't stop until I know what I deserve to know; are there deeper secrets being kept from me? Christian can't be the master of what information I'm told. It's just not fair, because this is about survival. Mine and his. Has he forgotten Leila Williams expertly sabotaged his helicopter in the hopes he was killed?

Leila William's reemergence at Harborview was bold and chilling, just like her felonious crimes. This woman is brilliant and cunning, and I'm still wondering if Christian did something to her that has driven her to want to kill the both of us, even if it's been years since their fucked up time together. She's a psychopath and stalking the streets of Seattle like she owns the place. Where is this woman, and how can she be drawn out of the shadows and caught? People chasing after Leila are only making her hide. I'm sure her sick mind enjoys the chase – being hunted.

She has put everyone that I love in danger; she's threatened my relationship with Christian, one that's obviously been intricate and complicated from the beginning, held together with delicate lace and shaky threads. Our relationship seems to be sturdy only when one of us is. As fucked as it probably sounds to others, I think, at this point, I'm the sturdy one. Christian's walking a high rope terrified that I'm going to bolt for the nearest exit and walk out of his life all together. He feels too unworthy of me for some reason that I can't understand. He's the one who is flailing in the wind, not me, and I have to protect him. I'm going to protect him. I'm going to protect our family.

Since learning about Leila being spotted not far from my hospital room, I've kept myself tucked into the guest room, only scurrying out today, when Christian went to work, and for a single purpose. He stayed home yesterday, doing what he did the night that I found out, sitting against the guestroom door, trying to get me to talk to him. I heard him crying. He heard me crying. I was up against one side of the door and Christian on the other. Ironically, something else keeping us apart. I pleaded for time, he for forgiveness, and I immediately forgave him. We love each other so much, I'm beginning to wonder if we love each other too much, and I believe it's what has us stuck in the muck and the mire surrounding us. Now others have jumped in the very same cesspool and are making things worse. Too many people are getting into Christian's head, telling him what he should do – how best to handle me. No one has even reached out to get into my head – to ask what I need. I've been coddled enough. I'm done with hiding in a penthouse in the clouds and looking over my shoulder. It's time to grab my life back and live in my new normal life.

Dad. After discovering about Leila, now I understand why he did what he did. When he advised that it might be best to keep it between the two of us, and place it in a safe, hidden spot, I was confused what his motivation was – I'm no longer confused.

" _Why do I need this? Christian has a militia protecting me, Dad.'"_

" _Yeah, he does, and I trust them. I trust Christian, but I don't trust either of those nut jobs. I'm not trying to scare you, Ana, but something could happen and your security could be taken out. If that happens, you'll have this and you know how to use it."_

" _Ray, has something happened?'_

" _Just take it, Anastasia."_

Dad stayed with us when he came to Seattle for Grace's birthday. Not only did he have his Glock, he brought me my .357 Magnum, in case Christian's top-notch security runs off of the rails, and I have to defend myself against Williams or Hyde. I don't remember if I ever told Christian I can shoot a gun, but he's got to know that I've got a permit to carry a concealed weapon. His investigating skills are too extensive to have missed that. My good aim, and that permit just might end half of what seems to be ruining my life, my relationship with Christian, and the family we are going to be, Williams or Hyde are human beings. Human beings are not bullet proof.

After blow drying my hair, I dress in a pair of jeans, a T-shirt under a gray hoodie and pull on a pair of black Doc Marten leather lace up boots that look like those a solider would wear. The gun is tucked into a stupidly expensive cross body purse Christian bought me for Christmas - it's finally going to be put to good use. I don't know if the gun will be, but it's better to be safe than dead.

I haven't seen Jose since I woke up from the land of the dead. He's called several times, but it always irritates Christian, who always reminds me that Jose would like nothing more than for me to break up with him. Maybe, or maybe not, I'm escaping the confines of luxury and heading to see my friend down in Vancouver, and find out if the hunted can find the hunter, as reckless as I know that is.

The security in the apartment is a skeleton crew, and right now, it's only Ryan guarding Christian's damsel in distress. Sawyer is off, and I know Prescott is visiting her family down in Portland. Reynolds has escorted Gail to the grocery store, and the big dog, Taylor is with the biggest dog, Christian. If I successfully pull this off, I should be awarded a medal of some sort. I'm not sure how long it will take before the troops are alerted about my absence, I only hope it's long enough for me to get out of the city and hit I-5. Hopefully, a wide-open shot at Ana Steele will bring Leila above ground, a temptation she won't be able to resist. Then I can get the authorities or Christian's security to grab the bitch.

My heart starts to gallop the second I touch the door knob. I take a deep breath and try to steady myself as I cautiously open the door. I'm aware of each CCTV and where they're lens' are trained at. This guest room is a safe zone. I stay against the wall and out of the view of any CCTV cameras and quietly make my way downstairs, headed to the utility room where the keys to Christian's fleet of Audi's are kept. The only noise is the rush of blood in my head and my shallow and shaky breathing. I have to stop a few feet from the utility room and decide if I really want to do this, because there is a camera trained on this room since it's near the stairs that are meant as an escape if there's a fire, and the service elevator which goes straight to the garage. If Ryan's ex-Navy Seal eyes fall on the screen that this certain CCTV camera is facing, I'm toast. Shit, this is actually unfair. I shouldn't have to freaking escape my home, but, I know I'm doing something terribly stupid, and Ryan is probably going to lose his job. I've got to stop overthinking this. Maybe being sloppy and reckless is what's going to get Leila Williams' attention. Keeping me on lockdown certainly hasn't deterred her or kept her from fucking with the cops and Christian's security. She's got to be stopped before she kills Christian. I won't allow that.

Sucking in a huge gulp of air, I jump into the utility room, and once inside, I wait to see if Ryan caught me and is headed to find me. Seconds pass, and all remains silent. I'm sweating and almost breathless. I rest my head on the wall and try to slow my breathing down and regain control of my traitorous body. I'm clammy and my heart is now beating so hard that I feel a pinching pressure in the middle of my chest. I wonder if I'm having a heart attack.

It must be a full five minutes before I calm myself down and focus on the mass of keys before me. There's a label underneath each key to describe which car it goes to, and Jesus, there are a lot of labels. I had no idea Christian had all of these cars. Why does he need so many freaking cars? My eyes dart around the labels, looking for something I can drive, because I'm sure not driving one of his bulky SUV's. Then Elliot's words come to mind when my eyes land on the last set of keys. "Go big, or go home, bro.", is what he told Christian a few months ago when Christian bought an R8 Spyder, and I nearly choked when I heard how much it cost. Damn, though, it's a V10 engine. Christian has refused to allow me to drive it, saying that I couldn't handle it, but if I'm going to make a two plus hour drive to Vancouver with the possibility of being followed, or even chased by that psychotic Williams, why not haul ass in the R8 and dare someone to catch up? I grab the key fob to it and tightly hold them in my left hand. OK, now I have to dash under the camera again, and jump into the service elevator without Ryan noticing. Yeah, he'll be alerted that the elevator is in use, but I think I've got a good head start. He'll check the elevator first, and either check the CCTV recordings, or come looking for me. I'd hate to be his ear when he lets Taylor know I've made it out of the penthouse. I know Christian is going to lose his shit, but I won't let him fire Ryan. This is all on me – he's blameless.

Eyeing the ceiling as I press my body against the wall, I make it to the elevator and press the button for it to open. After what seems like forever, and without Ryan running towards it, the doors to the elevator open, and I slide in, hitting the G button. I'm dizzy and my hearts in overdrive. I watch the numbers to the floors drop and wonder if Ryan is on my tail yet.

The doors slide open up to the garage. I stick my head out before stepping out, looking for Ryan running after me, or if Gail and Reynolds are in here, back from grocery shopping. It's clear. I run to the intimidating R8, and press the key fob for it to open.

I start it and hear the car's guttural engine. It reminds me of a lion roaring. I ease the car in reverse and head onto a concrete ramp that leads out of the garage. I'm careful not to scrape the sloping nose of Christian's baby, and carefully maneuver it to Virginia Street. God, is the clutch sensitive. This is like being in a rocket that has grabby breaks. Traffic is light, and before I know it, I'm making a right turn on the ramp to Portland. I'm shocked that Christian isn't blowing my phone up. Maybe Ryan was sleeping.

As I hit I-5 S, I weave in and out of traffic, eyes darting to the side mirrors to see if anyone is following me. So far, so good. Then Christian's ring tone startles me. God, I bet he's so pissed at me. I'm not going to answer it. It's still ringing when an older model gray Porsche 911 nearly comes to a halt in front of me. I barely touch the brakes and still get flung back into the seat. I downshift and the speed drops, engine roaring.

I abruptly cut into the left lane, shift gears, and floor it. The engine is rumbling and spitting, and I understand why Christian never let me drive it. Shit. Christian. I sneak a glance at my phone, and watch it blow up with text messages before he calls again. I've got to answer him and let him know I'm all right. I can't stand to think he's worrying about me.

"Chri—"

"What in the mother fucking fuck do you think you're doing, Anastasia?" he roars. "Turn the fucking car around, right now! Have you lost your mind?"

"I'm going to Portland to see Jose," I helplessly blurt out. Christian's mad, but I can hear the hurt in his voice.

"The photographer? The fuck you are. You're not driving down to Vancouver, take the next exit and get your ass home. I mean it. Now!"

"Please, Christian, I'm tired of being locked up in the penthouse. I need some freedom. I feel suffocated, and I just want to see a familiar face."

I hear loud crashes in the background and sounds of glass shattering.

"Christian, are you all right?" I ask, worried that he's hurt himself.

"Am I all right? You've got to be kidding me. Hell, no, I'm not all right. My pregnant girlfriend pulled a runner and is currently unprotected. Not to

mention that you could have a blackout at any minute! Did you take that into consideration when you were planning your three-hour trip?"

"No, I just—"

"I don't want to hear it, Ana. This is goddamned bullshit. Do as I say, and get off at the next exit," he orders. "Parson and Reynolds are already headed to cut you off. You aren't driving to fucking Vancouver. Bring your ass back to Seattle."

"Stop yelling at me!"

I hear him talking to Taylor and it sounds like they're walking. Great. Christian's probably headed to find his wayward girlfriend along with Parson and Reynolds. I knew he'd lose it, but I didn't think he'd go ballistic. Shit. Yeah, I did.

I check my mirror to see if any of the guys have sprouted wings and managed to catch up with me, but all I see is the gray Porsche behind me. The windows are as tinted as dark as the R8's, so I can't make out the driver. I slow down a little, but the Porsche doesn't change lanes to pass me. I check my mirror and glide into the right lane. So does the Porsche. My mouth dries and I feel a fluttering sensation in my stomach. I don't doubt that I'm being followed. Halfheartedly listening to Christian yell at me, I place the cell in the hands free and abruptly accelerate. The car's power takes me from 75 mph to 110 mph before I can blink.

"Slow the fuck down, Anastasia! For Christ's sake, are you trying to kill yourself?" Christian's voice erupts from my phone.

Huh? "What?" I ask him.

"You're going 110 mph! Slow your ass down before you kill yourself or someone else. Jesus!"

I narrow my eyes and glare at the phone.

"How do you know how fast I'm driving?"

"Because Taylor is tracking you," he says slowly.

"Tracking me?" I shriek.

He exhales deeply and the sound fills the car.

"Yes. I can also find you by tracing your cell phone. I'm coming to get your ass and drag you back home. Something could happen to you. Don't you realize that? You aren't being kept a prisoner, for God's sake. I'm trying to protect you."

And I'm going to protect you.

"Everything is going to be fine. Please, don't worry. I'll slow down. Just calm down."

"Are you crazy? I'll calm down once I can see you and you're back at home. Why did you do this?"

"I told you. I wanted to visit Jose. Get out and—"

"Fuck that! For a bright woman, you seem to have forgotten there are two very dangerous people on the loose, both who'd love to get their hands on you. Did you forget about Hyde and Williams, Anastasia?"

No, I haven't, because the gray Porsche is riding my ass again, and I'm betting it's not some random asshole. I'm not going to tell Christian, though.

"Drive the speed limit, or for fuck's sake, I'm going to call the police on you. Shit, maybe I should. That sounds like the best way to get you to safety."

I don't reply. What I do is downshift and slow down to 50. The Porsche brakes, and has to dart into the right lane to keep from hitting me. The damn windows are too dark for me to see who's playing this game with me, even though I think I know. The car doesn't move ahead of me, it's driving right beside me. I'm tempted to roll down the window and flip them off. Instead, I shift and put the hammer on the gas, and hit 120 mph.

"Why the fuck did you do that?' Christian's disembodied voice barks.

"Do what?" His anger has lost my attention. I'm too busy playing a game with a Porsche. They accelerated, but can't quite catch up to me. I smirk, suddenly proud of this purring V10.

"You slowed down to 50 and now you're back to 120. Quit fucking around with your safety. Have you forgotten you're pregnant?"

That's impossible and is part of the reason I'm doing this. I just can't tell you that.

"No, I haven't forgotten. That's a low blow."

"It's the fucking truth. There's an exit a mile ahead of you. Take it."

"Christian."

"Don't 'Christian', me. Take the exit and turn around. You aren't safe, Ana. You're too far ahead of every one of us. Goddamned fucking shit!"

Slowing, I let the Porsche catch up to me. It's about two cars back. I swiftly glide in and out of lanes. This time, they stay in the far-right lane. I keep darting my eyes from the road to the Porsche, driving a solid 100 mph. I weave over until I'm in the lane next to them and punch it, maneuvering the Spyder to cut them off.

"Ha! Fuck you, bitch," I say.

"Who are you talking to?"

Shit. I said that out loud and Christian's on the phone. He heard me. I watch the car that's stalking me accelerate and slide in front of me. They slam on their brakes, making me jerk the steering wheel to keep from rear ending them.

"Fuck!" I exclaim, not caring if Christian can hear me anymore. This is getting old. I'm ready to pull off the interstate and see what happens.

"Answer me, Anastasia."

"Please, stop calling me that."

I floor it, flinging myself into the seat, and losing the dumb fuck Porsche.

"Quit whining and answer my question. Who were you talking to?"

I sigh. I can't lie for shit, even over the phone. He's going to lose his mind.

"I was talking to some stupid car," I reluctantly answer.

"Why?"

"Don't get upset, but I'm positive that I'm being followed."

"What?" he screams so loudly that his voice breaks. "How do you know?"

"Because I noticed a gray Porsche 911 trailing me once I hit I 5. I've been slowing down and speeding up to see what they do. I'm weaving in and out of lanes and they are too. I'm definitely being followed."

I hold my breath and wait for Christian to explode. He doesn't.

"I'm putting you on speaker phone. Tell Taylor what you just told me." His voice has changed. He doesn't sound angry. He's controlled and unmistakably nervous.

"What's going on, Miss Steele?" Taylor asks. His voice is as impassive as his expression always is.

"Once I was on I 5, I caught sight of an older model Porsche 911. It's gray. It stayed in the distance for a long time, but then whoever is driving it, decided to play with me. We've been trading lanes, and when I speed up, they try their best to hang with me, but can't keep up."

"Can you tell if it's a man or woman driver?"

"No. The windows are tinted. A monkey could be driving it for all I know."

"Get behind them and give me the license plate number," Taylor presses.

"OK. Give me a minute."

I glide to the right lane behind the Porsche. They've sped up, but I'm stuck to their bumper. I read the tag to Taylor.

I hear him on his phone telling someone to run the tag.

"Miss Steele, stop engaging with the car. Slow down and drive the speed limit. Don't pass them. Hang behind them."

"Okay. Did you find out whose car it is?" My hands are beginning to sweat.

I can hear Christian swearing in the background. I think he must be using Taylor's phone to talk to someone.

"No. The tag was stolen." Taylor sounds pissed. I guess he should be mad at me, too.

"Shit," I murmur.

"Yeah, shit, Anastasia!" Christian's voice booms through the speakerphone. "Now you can be sure it's one of those lunatics on your ass. Fuck!"

"Christian, I did this for a reason. I'm done being afraid and looking over my shoulder. I'm worried about someone killing you. I'm sorry you don't understand."

"You're worried about me? Ana, you're the one being stalked down the interstate unprotected, not me. Jesus fucking Christ, get off at the next exit."

"Sir, she's two exits away from Portland. Prescott is visiting her family in Portland. I'll call her to meet Miss Steele some place safe," Taylor says. I can hear him giving Christian his phone back.

"Did you hear that? Prescott isn't far away. Taylor will figure out the safest place for you to meet her. I'll meet you there once everything is figured out," Christian tells me.

Their panic is about to make me start panicking, and up until now, I've been fairly calm and in control of my emotions.

We remain on the line but aren't saying anything. I know Christian and Taylor just want to make sure I'm fine and Christian is much calmer. Well, I think he's pretending to be calm. Every few minutes he asks how I am and they want to know if the Porsche is still fucking with me. It isn't, and I remain behind them, cruising the speed limit.

"Miss Steele, you need to take this next exit. Prescott is parked at the Chevron that's on the left side of the exit ramp. She's in her private vehicle; it's a dark green 2011 Jeep Cherokee," Taylor says.

"Then what?"

"You'll park and leave the car; then you're going to get into Prescott's vehicle."

"Christian, you want me to leave your car?" I squeak. I can't believe this.

"Yes, Ana. I don't give a fuck about that car. One of the guys will pick it up. I just want you safe. Just get out of the car and jump in Prescott's. She'll keep you safe," he answers.

"And she'll bring me back home?"

"No, Miss Steele. I don't want to take the chance of whoever's driving that Porsche doing something to harm you. You're going to The Heathman. The accommodations have already been taken care of. You'll wait for more security and Mr. Grey, and do not let anyone else into the suite. There isn't anyone else on the floor you'll be on, and Mr. Grey has ensured that the hotel's staff keeps it that way," Taylor informs me.

"All right. I took the exit. Which side of the road is the Chevron on?"

"The left, Ana." Christian sounds exasperated. I dread seeing him. He's going to go off on me, but I realize that I deserve it. I shouldn't have made him worry like this. What was I thinking?

Pulling into the gas station parking lot, I see the Cherokee and Prescott behind the wheel. She doesn't look happy. I wouldn't either if I had to leave my family to come rescue someone because they made a bad decision.

"I see her," I tell them, parking alongside her.

"Park by her and get in her vehicle," Christian orders me.

"I am parked by her."

"Then get out and jump into her vehicle, Ana!"

I grab my purse, phone, and the key fob and jump into the passenger side door that Prescott is holding open for me. She shuts it behind me. I watch her come around the Jeep. She's on the phone, probably talking to Taylor.

"Can I hang up now?"

"Yes. I'll see you soon, Anastasia." I'm back to Anastasia. He's fuming mad.

Prescott slides into the Jeep and locks the doors. Before I know it, we're on the road headed west.

"I'm sorry that you're having to do this. I know you were with your family," I say to her. I feel like such an immature shit.

Surprisingly, she smiles. "It's part of my job, Miss Steele. You don't have to apologize, and I'm a bit relieved that Taylor called me in. I don't get along well with my sister-in-law and she was there, driving me nuts."

"Oh. I'm an only child so I won't have to deal with a sister-in-law. Well, that's if Christian and I don't ever get married. If we do, I'll have Mia, and thankfully, I love her to pieces."

Christian and I getting married. I do believe that's the first time I've ever spoken those words, and the first time that I do, I say them to my security and not Christian.

"Be grateful that you do like Miss Grey. I've never gotten along with my brother's wife. She's always made snide comments about my career and how I've never married or had children. I believe she likes to insinuate that I'm gay," she replies.

I can't believe we're having a normal conversation and Prescott is freely discussing her personal life. Christian would shit a brick if he heard us.

"Doesn't your brother stand up for you?"

She laughs. "Absolutely, but she doesn't care. I've learned to ignore her."

I look around to see if the Porsche followed us. I don't see it anywhere.

"The car isn't following us, Miss Steele. I've had my eyes out for it since you got in the car."

I exhale deeply and lay my head on the seat's headrest. I'm beginning to feel nauseous. God, I hope I don't have to tell her to pull over so I can throw up.

"Are you feeling ill, Miss Steele?" Prescott asks.

How could she tell?

"Just a bit nauseous. I'll rest when we get into the room."

Soon we're in front of the hotel, and Prescott hands the keys to the valet. Grabbing me by the elbow, we walk to the front desk and are greeted by a young woman with a surly expression.

"We have reservations under Lewis," Prescott tells her.

Surly Expression taps on the computer keyboard and looks at us. I'm sure Christian reserved the best suite in the hotel, and neither of us looks like we could afford it.

"Certainly. Do you require help with your luggage?" she asks, handing Prescott key cards.

"No, thank you." Prescott turns us around quickly and we head to the elevators.

"Miss Steele, once inside the suite, you are not to open the door. Even if you order something to eat and its room service. If that happens and you're in the main room with me, I want you to go into an adjoining room. This particular suite has three. Do you understand?" Now Prescott sounds like the Prescott that I know.

"I understand. Surely if that car didn't follow us, then they don't know where we are. Plus, we're registered under a different name."

"Please just do as I ask, Miss Steele," she says, ignoring my words.

The elevator doors slide open, but she puts an arm up to stop me from stepping out and looks to the left and then to the right.

"Follow me."

Naturally, the suite is ostentatious and over the top. Why would Christian get such a room knowing we wouldn't be here very long? I'd chastise him for it, but I know he's done it because he loves me and always wants the best for me. Thinking that only makes me feel guilty, which I should.

After Prescott locks the door, she calls Taylor and tells him we safely made it to the hotel. The conversation is brief.

Nausea hits me out of nowhere and I know that I can't fight what I feel rising in my throat. Prescott said the bedroom was to the right; she's standing directly in my way. If she doesn't move, I'll throw up on her.

"I'm going to be sick. Move, Prescott, move!"

Hurriedly, I make my way into the suite's bedroom with a hand over my mouth. I toss my purse onto the bed. I barely make it in time. My stomach repeatedly empties itself of the Sprite I drank earlier. Once my body is finished lurching up bile, I blindly grope for a towel or wash rag that might be nearby. There isn't one. I collect myself and stand on shaky legs almost too weak to make my way to the sink, where I wet a wash rag and wipe my face off. You'd think an exclusive hotel like The Heathman would have a toothbrush and toothpaste handy, but I don't see any, so I wash my mouth out with cold water from the faucet. Resting my arms on the counter, I lower my head and take in some deep breaths. I'm miserable, and ready for this to end.

"I know you can't hear me yet, but would you ease up on me and stop causing me to vomit all the time? Please?" I say to the embryo inside of me that doesn't have ears yet.

I pick up the wash rag to wash my face once more, and turn to make my way out of the bathroom and rest for a while. My eyes are closed when I scrub the cool rag for a last time and toss it in the sink. Slowly turning on my Doc Martens, I walk into the bedroom. I stop in my tracks. My eyes go straight to my purse that's on the bed.

"How long have you been standing there?" I ask in a small, but strong voice.

"Longer than you'd like," Leila Williams responds.

Neither of us moves. The butcher knife pointed at the floor has fresh blood on it. My stomach drops because I realize what that must mean. The door between the living room and the bedroom is partially open. Fuck. Prescott was in the living room. Leila hasn't come here to play.

I know the distance between me and my purse. The. 357. It's out of reach. Panic is rising, but I've got to tamp it down. This is what I wanted. I wanted to draw her out and I did. I didn't expect a bloody, Michael Meyers butcher knife.

She slowly makes her way to me, but I'm not going to cower or run. I inch my way further into the room. A shiver runs down my spine.

The woman before me doesn't look like the one in the mugshot I've spent hours studying. She doesn't look like a bleary eyed drunk who'd just been arrested. She's also not wearing leather and holding a whip. Leila Williams has on a brown cable knit sweater and jeans. Her high heel boots reach her knees. I'm struck by how much she resembles me – only her eyes aren't blue, they're brown. Her hair isn't as long or thick as mine, and is a lighter brown, with golden highlights sprinkled throughout. I can't get over how alike we look; she's petite and small boned like me, but a few inches taller. We could pass as sisters.

I can't look at my purse; it will draw her attention. I've got to get that gun. A gun trumps a damn knife any day, well, it will if she doesn't stab me first. I watch her lick her lips and appraise me head to foot – she smiles. I had thought Leila was a certifiable psychopath who'd been living on the streets and sleeping in garbage cans. This woman isn't a psychopath. From what I'm seeing, she's mentally sound – that makes her more dangerous.

Leila steps closer and I mimic her move, only edging a bit toward the bed. If she notices, she doesn't say anything. Suddenly, she rushes me, and grabs my hoodie and pulls me close to her body, I hear the slight rasp of material ripping. I'm barely holding it together now. . . Leila will never know that, though.

She roughly grabs one of my arms. Grinning, as she points the butcher knife's tip under my chin. I feel the cool, sharp blade against my skin.

"I've got to applaud you, Anastasia. I'm sure your escape from Escala was a ploy to get my attention, and it worked. Tell me, are you proud of yourself?"

I don't dare move, I only stare into her brown eyes trying to figure her out. My silence must piss her off because I feel the tip of the blade pop into my skin. I feel blood running down my throat.

"Has a cat got your tongue?" she asks.

"No."

"No, to a cat having your tongue, or if you're proud of yourself for drawing me out my special hiding spot?"

I lick my dry lips and narrow my eyes at her. Her special hiding spot?

"Does it really matter?" I softly ask her.

Leila scoffs. "Not a goddamned bit," she replies. "You look different from the last time we were together."

"When have we ever been together?"

"Anastasia. . . I've rode in the elevator at Escala with you on numerous occasions, well, that is until these unfortunate events began to take place. In fact, before yours truly became a fugitive, I've been in that elevator with nearly every member of Christian's family."

She's grinning. She's pleased with herself, and I'm completely confused.

"What? How is that possible?"

She twists the skin on my arm harshly. So harsh that I cry out.

"It's possible because I live there," she tells me. "Shit, pick your jaw off the floor. I have an apartment on the fifth floor. I've been living there for a year or so." Leila cackles loudly, causing me to jump. "You fucks have been looking for me and we live in the same fucking building. That fact has kept me up at night laughing."

"You live in Escala?" I breathe incredulously. My mouth feels like I've funneled sand.

"Yes. The Dom I had at the time had a penny or two, and bought me the apartment. He was a red faced, pudgy little fuck, but he had money – not Grey money – and that's why I didn't mind watching him pop Viagra and shoot Testosterone in his own ass so he could get it up. He was in his late forties and had been a Dom for most of his life – a sadistic fuck, too." She stops and lets up on my arm. "He was a good fuck, from behind, that is. Not as good as your boyfriend, but I've only had a few that were. Is my story boring you, Anastasia?"

I don't bother answering her. I know it wouldn't matter if she was boring me. She glares at me.

"I expect you were a virgin when you met Christian Grey, huh? I bet it hurt when that big cock popped that cherry. . . Ouch. Did it hurt, Anastasia?"

Brown eyes wide and hateful, Leila's cocked her head to the side, staring at me expectantly.

"Is that why you're here, Leila? You want to know about my sex life with Christian?" I keep my growing anger out of the tone of my voice. Barely.

"Nah, I'm sure your sex life is boring as hell. Anyway, back to my story. This Dom sought me out because he heard I was hardcore masochist. I guess he wanted to find out if the rumors were true – and they are. I knew of him, heard his name thrown around for years, but wasn't interested in him until I wanted to start my own company. I thought he might be generous and toss out gifts like most rich sadists do, your boyfriend included."

"Christian isn't a sadist!" I exclaim angrily.

She rolls her eyes at me. "And I'm Mary fucking Poppins. Christian Grey is renowned for his sadistic tendencies. He's got a waiting list of willing pussy who want to be beaten. Well, he probably doesn't have one since he's doing the girlfriend thing now, but trust me, your Prince Charming knows how to hand out a punishment. . . And it gets him off, big time. Maybe you've never seen that side of him, but I have. It's there."

I'm tugged further into the bedroom by the arm she's once again got in a vice grip.

Leila sighs. "Where was I? Oh, yes. I had hopes that my new Dom would be willing to help me start up a private engineering company. He helped me write up a business plan, and we had a relatively normal. . . relationship, when I wasn't bound and gagged, that is. Guess what? The fat fuck died on me! Had a heart attack while he was running on a treadmill." She cackles again. "How fucked is that? Here's this fat ass trying to lose weight and he drops dead in the process. Then, there's me, trying to get my startup money, and when he dies, so does my company. The only family he had was a sister and a niece or nephew, but who the fuck cares. So naturally, he willed them everything he had, but the apartment was paid for, and he left me a bit of money to live comfortably for a while."

Her cheeks redden and she appears offended that this man died. It sounds like she believes he died on purpose. She's looking across the room, lost in thought, and I'm formulating a plan to get free of her so I can get to my purse. Right now, she looks like she's lost in space. Perhaps I can distract her if I get her talking.

I swallow hard. "Why did you try to kill me? Kill Christian?" I can't believe how strong I sound.

Leila's head whips to me and she grabs my hoodie. It's pulling against my neck – digging in, and it feels like it's going to strangle me. God, let me get to my purse.

"I haven't tried to kill you. I set your apartment on fire to get your boyfriend's attention, which it did. I sabotaged Christian's helicopter because he deserves to be sent to Hell," she answers, her jaw clenched.

Sweat is rolling down my back and it's taking all of my strength to keep my knees from buckling. Although her words are hard, Leila's expression is bland, her eyes look bored. I don't think that bodes well.

"Why do you think he deserves to go to Hell, Leila? Because he didn't keep you around?"

She roughly pulls me to her. "I didn't want that mother fucker to keep me around? Is that what that bastard told you?" She laughs, it sounds musical – then her eyes became hard. "Is it?" she yells, I can't help but cringe.

The point of the knife presses further into my skin. It's beginning to burn. It's beginning to make my eyes water.

"No. Christian's never said that. He's always said he has no idea why you're doing this," I murmur through what is now beginning to hurt.

Leila roughly pushes me back. Anger, written all over her. It's vibrating off of her.

"The prick. . . Your Christian, said I broke his precious NDA because I listed him as a personal reference on a loan I was trying to get. You know, for the company I wanted to start. I was desperate and thought having his name on the application would help me. I hadn't kept his fucking car or the rest of his bullshit gifts, so he had nothing to take back. . . What a fucking bastard. Long story short: he fucked up my loan and has blackballed me from every engineering company in the Pacific Northwest. He's ruined me, and the money my Dom left me is nearly all gone."

I blink several times. Her words are surprising – if they're the truth. Surely Christian isn't that vindictive.

"I thought a submissive couldn't call her Dom by his first name. Here you are referring to him as Christian. Shouldn't you be referring to him as 'Sir'? Maybe 'Master'?"

The first hit to the right side of my head knocks the wind out of me, and my body jerks to the left. The second, coming from the knife's handle, glances my chin. The room is spinning and I've lost my bearings – and I smell my blood. It quickly reminds me that I have a life to protect. A life I shouldn't have endangered. Christian was right; what in the fuck was I thinking?

"Fuck that. I wasted too much time calling Christian Grey, 'Sir', and allowing him to beat the shit out of me. Oh, he's a great fuck, and I did love when he fucked my mouth," she goads me.

Leila pulls me up as easily as the rag doll I am right now, and slams the heel of her boot on my foot, but the leather of my boots protects me from any pain. I toss my hair out of my face and see the look of satisfaction on her face.

"He's never fucked your mouth, has he, Anastasia? You're too much of a proper wimp to take a little pain, aren't you? Did you even let him tie you up before you left him? Hmm?"

How in the fuck does she know about that? Leila's feigning shock. I want to rip her heart out. If I could only get my purse. . .

"What are you talking about, Leila?"

She rolls her eyes, and I feel the knife begin to run down my torso. She's not applying enough pressure to cut me, but she is tearing fabric.

"You are such a dumb bitch. I know all about your piss poor attempt to be Christian's sub... No, you're not dumb. I forgot you're brain damaged. Tell me, do you have to wear diapers so you don't shit and piss all over yourself?" she sneers.

"Fuck you," I reply, and I really, really shouldn't have said that.

Her forearm makes direct contact with my nose, launching my upper body backwards, and expelling a choking breath. She never loosens her grip on the knife. The knife's blade that's now pressed against my stomach. I begin to cry. She's no doubt incapacitated Prescott and is probably going to kill me. Bringing that gun was pointless.

"Mind your manners, Miss Steele. Fuck, you're a disgusting mess. I wonder what Christian would think of you if he could see you. His bloody and fucked up love. The woman carrying his child."

Her words and her chilling tone startle me. It's like they shut my pain off. I'd ask how she knows, but I know the answer – she was at the hospital.

"Yeah, yeah, I read your chart when I made it to your floor. Did Mr. Grey's elite security squad feel like jerk off's when they finally discovered I was so close to you?" She winks at me. "I know there's a little Grey right under my knife. I wonder if I should stab you in the stomach before I cut your fucking throat. You would die knowing you set your wee babe up to be slaughtered."

Tears mingle with the blood I feel running down my face. The cunt's right. This is my fault. I look towards the door that's cracked open.

Leila laughs loudly. "Stop hoping that bitch is going to save you, Anastasia."

I'm on my own, but I did sneak out of the safety of the penthouse alone. I left to fight this bitch, not to die. All I have to do is look in her eyes to know this isn't going to end well for one of us.

"I can see it in your eyes, Anastasia. The panic. I don't care if you are panicking – just do it quietly, for Christ's sake. I'm fed up with your whimpers and crying. What's gotten you so scared?"

Suddenly, Leila pulls the knife back and shoves me against the wall. The unexpected force causes me to lose my balance and I have to catch myself on the bedside table. I lean against it trying to support my body weight, gasping from the pain. I can tell that my discomfort must be music to Leila's ears.

"Anastasia, let me ask you something. Have you noticed that we look alike? That our bodies are similar. . . and that we're both brunettes?" she asks, then kicks me in the shin.

It takes me a minute to gather strength and look her in the eyes. She's almost giddy with excitement.

"Yes," I breathe after wiping the blood from my mouth.

"That's because your lover boy has a type. You do know that, don't you?"

"What are you talking about?"

Leila's eyes widen with mock surprise.

"You're sacrificing yourself for a man who only fucks petite brunettes You didn't know?" she asks. "All of his submissives look alike . . . They all look like us. . . Like you." Her voice is low and menacing. "I'm curious. . . Do you know who Rachel Warren is?"

Rachel Warren? Rachel Warren? Who in the hell is she?

Leila must see the confusion in my eyes. She laughs.

"She's the head arson investigator of the Seattle Fire Department. I hear you met her after I dropped a few matches in your apartment. Ring any bells?" she asks.

I recall that evening clearly. We all sat around a conference table for hours. It was when Christian's family found out their son wasn't a celibate robot or played for the other team. The arson investigator was a woman. She was a brunette. Please, tell me she's lying.

My eyes dart to Leila's. They're glinting and she's smirking at me.

"I remember her. Why are you mentioning her?" I try to sound disinterested. She doesn't have to spell it out for me. I'm pretty sure I know what she's going to say. Yet another fact Christian kept from me. I sat at a table and was questioned by a woman who he fucked and whipped every weekend. I wonder how long their contract was for.

"Tsk, tsk, Anastasia. Obviously, your boyfriend didn't tell you that before she was Mrs. Rachel Warren, she was Miss Rachel Lowe. I'm not sure when she was Grey's sub, but years ago, she was another petite brunette he caned and fucked in the ass. Maybe I'll ask the girls if they know when Rachel was blowing your boyfriend." She's goading me.

"Girls? What girls? What in the hell are you going on about, Leila? If your grudge is against Christian, why are you trying to fuck with me?"

"Because fucking with you is also fucking with Christian. You're his kryptonite." She pauses dramatically. "The girls are some of your boyfriend's former subs, who've befriended one another. They occasionally go out together, probably to compare notes about Grey. I've met a few of them, but wasn't interested in sitting around and discussing him."

My stomach churns, I'm not sure if it's due to her words, or the baby. I'm sure my discomfort is visible. I've never hated anyone in my life until this very moment.

Leila leans in and whispers in my ear. "There's a rumor that Christian knocked up one of his former subs. They say that after she found out, she ended the contract, because she knew he'd demand she have an abortion. Personally, I think the story is bullshit. If I had Christian Grey's spawn, I'd be depositing monthly child support checks." She sighs, her warm breath on my skin. "But you never know. There might be a baby Grey out there, and if there is and he knows it, you can bet your sweet ass that he'll never tell you."

She grabs the strings to my hoodie and wraps them around her free hand, and tightly twists them around my neck. I reach up and grab it. She only tightens the strings. I'm reminding myself to take slow and deep breaths; remain calm, Ana. Keep your shit straight. Christian doesn't have a child out there. Leila's lying – getting into my head. She wants me to doubt and question Christian. I would know if he had a child, wouldn't I? Of course. He wouldn't keep something like that from me. He couldn't keep anything that huge from anyone.

She looks down at the carpet and shakes her head. "It's a good thing Christian Grey is a billionaire and can pay off this hotel so they don't sue him for damages. You really should stop bleeding on the carpet. You've ruined it."

Before I have time to react, she jerks me by the arm and we're once again face to face. The blade is pressing into my stomach.

"I thought about waiting to kill you until Christian arrived so he could watch you suffer, but I know I wouldn't be able to get away from his A-team. It looks like you're going to die alone."

I stand straight up and meet her eyes. I anticipate this blow, and manage to duck under it, infuriating Leila. A boot to my right knee causes me to falter, and it's then I feel the tip of the knife pierce the skin covering my stomach. I choke, but once more stand straight up. I refuse to stand here and allow her the satisfaction of watching me as she destroys my baby.

Grinning, she eases the blade in and this time is twisting it, and reflexively, both of my hands reach out to stop the knife. It isn't until I feel the excruciating, burning sensation that I look down and see what I've done.

My hands are on either side of the sharp blade, and I helplessly watch as Leila slowly pulls and twists the blade back, slicing through the flesh on my hands, with a smile on her face.

My scream is primal. I howl from the agonizing pain. She's effectively crippled me. There's no way I can fight back with two hands that are now slit open, and my fingers have gone numb. I slowly slump to the floor and take a knee to the chin before I land on the carpet. I see stars through bloody and tear-filled eyes. I vaguely hear her vile and cruel taunts and vicious words, but my body is paralyzed from the pain. Then some spark in my brain fires and I realize something. I may be on the floor, but I'm wedged near the bottom of the bed. It's the closest I've been to my purse.

It's the closest I've been to my gun.

I know if I die, she'll kill Christian. If he walks into this penthouse suite and finds a blood bath, with me and his unborn baby dead, Christian won't survive it. He'll crumble. Leila will have won. I can't let that happen. I won't allow that to happen.

I realize my chances of pulling this off are slim, but I can't let that stop me. It's either ridding the world of Leila, or death. And I'm not ready to die. This is a terrible, horrible, incredibly foolish idea, but I don't have any other option.

With Leila looking down at me, I straighten my legs and kick hers, trying to make her fall. She nearly does, and with her attention partially distracted, I jump onto the bed and reach for the purse handle. I grab it and scream from the contact on my bloodied hands. As I'm pulling it towards me, I hear a scream and a concrete wall slams into my back, right under my shoulder. The bitch stabbed me. I can feel Leila twisting the blade into my body. I'm limp and air gushes from my lungs. She slowly and painfully pulls the knife out.

"You fucking little bitch," she screams, raising the knife in the air.

Against my protesting body, I roll over, taking my purse with me, and watch her launch herself on the bed, swinging the knife at me as I barely dodge the oncoming blade. Leila's furious swings land on the mattress swiftly, but I'm able to drop off the side of the bed - blood everywhere.

The pain from my wounds rip through me every time that my heart beats. I'm blindly searching for the gun, watching Leila approach me on her knees. She's enraged that her prey found a way to abscond her torture. I'm no longer hearing what she's screaming at me. I grab the gun and swallow a moan from the pain it's causing me. Leila has reached the edge of the bed, so I scoot away from her, and slowly raise the gun. It's hard because my fingers are in a spasm and numb.

Her eyes widen, and her grip on the knife slackens, while my grip on the gun painfully tightens. My hands are shaking and I know I've got to breathe and steady them. You can't hit your target if your hands aren't steady, Ana.

Leila cocks her head to the side and smirks.

"You're going to shoot me? You, of all people?"

She's really at a disadvantage here. Here audacity to taunt the person who's holding a gun on her is unbelievable. Gun always trumps knife. If you know how to properly shoot the gun, that is. And I do.

"Yeah. Yeah, Leila, I really am," I reply. The back of my throat must be clogged with blood, because my voice sounds choked and croaky.

"Bullshit, Anastasia."

"Toss the knife off the bed and don't move. We can wait until the Calvary arrives, which should be any minute now, or you can try to fuck me up some more. I'm warning you; I will blow a hole straight through you."

She tightens her grip on the knife's handle, her face skeptical and mocking.

"I'm not afraid of you," she replies.

"That's unfortunate." My hands are screaming as I grip the gun tighter. My arms are extended, which is exacerbating the pain from where she stabbed me in the back. I can't decide if I want to fucking kill or maim her.

"You know what they say, one bullet can end a lifetime," I tell her.

"Fuck you"

I squint my eyes at her. Maybe she isn't really of sound mind. The bitch doesn't get it. She has no clue how to love another to the point of doing anything to protect them. Even if this idea of mine was hideously stupid.

"For someone who claims to be as smart as you do, you sure are dumb as fuck to challenge a gun that's aimed directly at you."

"That's because I know you're not made of what it takes to kill someone."

She subtly moves her hand, but I see it. There won't be any more blitz attacks.

I square my shoulders and my hands are steady. My dominant eye aligns the front and rear sights. Despite the blood, sweat, and agonizing pain, my aim is perfect – right on her heart.

"Leila, the gun in my hands is directly aimed at your heart – you're within my crosshairs, if you know what that means," I tell her, this time louder and with force. "My finger is on the trigger and I can drop you with just a bit of pressure on it."

My heart is pounding and I'm actually hoping she makes a move so I can take her down. For all I know, my baby may be dead inside of me from her brutal assault. If so, and I don't kill her right now, I'll make it my life's mission to do so.

She says nothing, doesn't make a sound, but the look in her eyes tells me exactly what is about to happen.

Leila leaps off of the bed, twisting her upper body so I'm guaranteed to miss her heart. Before she lands, she's already trying to slash and stab me. I roll aside as she makes a desperate attempt to catch me. I fire two deafening shots upwards into her abdomen and her body jerks. She yells out and grabs her stomach. Raising her head, her expression is malevolent and remorseless. She makes one last attempt to stab me before I land two shots in her groin. Leila looks shocked, as she struggles to stay conscious as blood spurts from her destroyed femoral artery. Her fingers slack, and the knife settles beside her. I watch her fingers twitch as her life slips away.

Adrenaline brings me to my feet, and I drop the gun from my mangled hands. The area around me looks like someone doused it in blood. I will never forget this metallic smell. For the first time, I take a good look at the mangled flesh that is my hands. I stagger from the shock of Leila's cruelty. Looking around for something to apply pressure to them, along with the stab wound to my back, I gaze at the door to the living area. Prescott.

I hobble to the door, fighting my body to stay upright. I can feel myself begin to fade away from blood loss and feel my heart throbbing through my bloodied clothes. Stumbling and stuttering towards the door, it only opens because my body falls into it. I knew Leila had to have hurt Prescott, but I wasn't expecting this. I hysterically hunt for the room's phone – any phone. It's on the desk and looks miles away. I have to make my way around Prescott's body. She's on her back, in front of the room's door, both of her hands at her neck. She must have instinctively reached for it when Leila slit her throat.

Blood.

So much blood.

The room dips, and my legs forget their purpose. I never make it to the phone.


	16. Chapter 16

_~Chapter Sixteen~_

 _Christian_

* * *

" _The first method for estimating the intelligence of a ruler is to look at the men he has around him."_

I feel as though Machiavelli wrote that just for me, because how intelligent can I be, if myself, or all of my security personnel - especially Welch, didn't catch this? How did this fly so low under the radar that he didn't catch it? It did though, and Taylor didn't find it when he did his own background checks. If I wasn't living this clusterfuck, I would say that it couldn't be real, that it would have to be a work of fiction. Bestselling crime fiction.

I'm leaning over a cheap wooden table; my arms are gripping the edge and are supporting my body weight. It's flimsy, and I've punched it, along with a wall, several times, as the afternoon faded into night. Hell, it may be morning. Time stopped for me when Reynolds called Taylor from inside of the Grand Suite at The Heathman Hotel. The Grand Suite that's now a crime scene of epic proportions. One frigid and dreary February day flushed out treachery of epic proportions. Each shocking revelation is rocking the world around me; terrifying secrets that have even disturbed my highly trained security detail. I wouldn't blame any of them if they're second guessing one another; I'm second guessing everyone that I know.

Several men on the detail team that Taylor oversees are in the room with me, my dad, and a Portland lawyer Dad knows, Cole Staunton. Since Dad can't practice law in the state of Oregon, he called this Staunton to be present when the police questioned Ana – not that they've been able to. Ana is still out from the pain medication, and some kind of drug that would make her unable to remember the procedure they used to treat her hands. I'm out of my mind that all of these medications are going to adversely affect the baby, but they doctor's keep reminding me they know their jobs.

The cops might not be able to speak with Ana for days. Elliot was left in Seattle to make sure the exasperating females in our lives stayed put. I wish Mom could be here to make sure Ana's receiving proper care, but Mia and Kate's hysterics would send me over the edge. For now, they know nothing – but that will change shortly. Once news of an army of police and paramedics storming Portland's elite hotel, journalists came running out in droves. So far, the police haven't released a statement, or the names of those involved, but they're getting impatient with my repeated requests to stall a public release. Law enforcement up in Seattle are also being a pain in our ass'.

Ray arrived late in the afternoon, and after being questioned about giving the gun Ana used to kill Leila with, he's been sitting at her bedside while me and my father deal with the mess around us.

Anastasia drifted in and out of consciousness as Reynolds and Parson waited for help to arrive. Reynolds held pressure to the stab wound to Ana's back and tried to keep her awake, while Parson swept the suite without touching anything that would contaminate the scene. Two dead bodies were found. Prescott, right in front of the room's door, and Leila, beside the bed in the master suite. They both immediately knew something was wrong; Parson called it gut instinct - Prescott's weapon was nowhere near her body. In fact, the only gun that was found was Ana's. They couldn't roll Prescott over to see if her weapon was in the waistband of her jeans because they knew better than to disturb a crime scene, but by the time the EMT's arrived and moved her, they didn't have to look for a gun.

Reynolds and Parson already knew there wasn't one to be found.

A cell phone was found near Prescott's body; a pre-paid cell phone that turned out to be hers. Covering his finger with the fabric of his jacket, Parson pressed a button and read the last text message Prescott had received. The sender was "Joe", and the message simply said, "Here." It had been received at the exact time Prescott and Ana were checking in at the hotel. Parson scrolled through each damning text and call, recording it all on his cell phone. Leila didn't have a cell phone on her person, and after searching the room, it was determined she'd only brought one weapon – the knife. Her car keys had been tossed on a sofa in the living area.

Reynolds told Parson to head out and see if he could locate the Porsche. It was parked behind the hotel, and Parson was in the locked vehicle in less than a minute. There he found another pre-paid cell phone. Each text and call was identical to the ones on the phone near Prescott's body. Documenting the evidence just the way he did with Prescott's phone, Parson was out of the vehicle and headed up to the Grand Suite as the EMT's and police were arriving.

Prescott had told Leila she was picking Ana up and taking her to The Heathman, specifically, the Grande Suite. Not long after they arrived at the hotel, Leila knocked on the door and Prescott let her in. Unfortunately for her, it appears that Leila murdered her as soon as she entered the suite. Not a single defensive injury was on her body, and the only wounds on Leila were the four bullet holes that were delivered by Ana. From the information we've gathered so far, Prescott wasn't carrying her gun because she trusted Leila, and didn't see a reason to be packing. That was one of Prescott's many mistakes.

From all of the information gathered from the cell phone's Reynolds and Parson found, along with several that Sawyer, and more of my security have found in a fifth-floor apartment in Escala, we know that Leila told Prescott she was going to kidnap Ana - not kill her.

Along with the cell phones, various wigs have been found at the apartment. It seems that a man, probably her Dom, had purchased the apartment for Leila – it was in his name. When Welch checked Vital and Statistics, he discovered the man was dead – of natural causes.

When the building's manager and staff were questioned and shown photographs of Leila, a few recalled her, but said they hadn't seen her in months. Taylor says if Leila was coming in and out of the building's lobby, she would have been wearing one of the wigs recovered in her apartment. He highly suspects that she'd been using the stairwell to keep from running into any one of us in the elevator. He's embarrassed and furious at himself for not catching this, and offered his resignation, which I ignored. He can't take full responsibility of any of this, and I agree with my dad's statement:

"They had the advantage on all of you."

Finding out how Leila got to one of my security personnel was a tricky puzzle to put together. It appears that Leila initially made contact with Prescott months back, during Ana's lengthy hospitalization. Uncovering why she did felt like exhuming a long since buried body, and explained how Prescott and Leila knew one another, but it didn't come up on their background checks. I guess that from now on, I'll have to find more information about the parents of those I'm investigating. Had I done that with either of these bitch's, this wouldn't have ever happened.

Prescott was born and raised in Portland; she had a sister and a brother. Her parents divorced when she was ten, and her parents shared joint custody of the children. Around the time she was fifteen, Prescott's mother met, and for a short time, began to casually date a man named Joseph "Joe" Williams, from Vancouver, Canada. Williams was a widower, and had one child, a daughter he and his wife adopted when the girl was an infant. That girl was Leila Williams. I already knew Leila was adopted and the names of her parents. I was aware her mother had died when she was sixteen, and her father had died from a heart attack a year or so before she became my sub. What I didn't know about Leila's mother - she'd committed suicide. Leila's mother, Anne, had run a bath, and while in it, slit both of her wrists. Her husband, Joseph, found her.

After committing several illegal acts, Welch got Mrs. Williams' autopsy report. The doctor who performed Anne Williams' autopsy made note that he'd found water in her lungs, which he'd written was suspect because had Mrs. Williams slid into the bath water, already dead from blood loss, she wouldn't have taken a breath, hence, no water in her lungs. The medical examiner also made a notation that he believed the wounds to her wrists were made after death. But being at the coroner's office a short amount of time, the senior pathologist over ruled his conclusion, saying there was no way to know if Anne Williams was barely alive as she went under the water and could have inhaled any. He classified the cause of death as a suicide and that was the end of it.

Everyone in this room shares the same eerie suspicion: Leila killed her mother.

Ana's incoherent ramblings to Reynolds gave us the intel on the apartment at Escala, and gave Taylor's guys the opportunity to search it before the Seattle PD got word and descended upon it. We kept our mouths shut about it for an hour or so, to give the guys sufficient time to find anything that could put this puzzle together. Once Sawyer gave the all clear, Reynolds "suddenly recalled" Anastasia mumbling about Leila living in the same fucking building as us. It was blatantly obvious that the Portland homicides detectives didn't believe us, but fuck them. With two police jurisdictions, along with the SFD, and NTSB involved, it's been a circus.

Now that Leila's dead, both the arson and sabotage of Charlie Tango investigations are over. Thank God that I'll never have to deal with Mrs. Rachel Warren ever again.

As for my errant, crazy, and stupidly brave girlfriend, she must have an angel protecting her and our baby. The ultrasound showed that the baby was alive and everything else checked out good. As far as Ana, the puncture wound underneath her chin only required a steri-strip. Though her hands were a bloody mess and looked like they were barely attached to her arms, the knife's blade didn't injure any of the nerves to either hand. Yes, the cuts were deep, but not as deep as they appeared. She miraculously only suffered tissue and small vessel damage, and I'm not sure how many stitches they required, because I had to leave the room while they worked on her. Now she looks like she's wearing two thick oven mitts. The stab wound to her back missed all major blood vessels and was nowhere near the upper lobe of her lung. It basically went in and struck her scapula. Again, the knife only caused soft tissue damage, and I've been assured Ana isn't going to suffer any long-term damage from her injuries, and the treatment for them isn't placing the baby at risk.

From the bruising on her face, we know that a lot more took place before Ana killed Leila. She's heavily bruised along her hairline on the right side of her face, and has a black eye. Thankfully, it doesn't appear that she was struck anywhere near the left side of her head, where her skull was fractured. I get nauseous when I think of the permanent damage that could have caused. I also want to take her over my knee and spank the living shit out of her.

I've successfully managed to keep the medical staff from slipping up and mentioning Ana's pregnancy to my father and Ray. Ana's plan is to tell the entire family together, and I'll be damned if I take that away from her. She's already had enough taken away from her, so many things that sit on my shoulders, and I'm not going to allow anything else to be snatched from her. I also don't want to discuss the baby, because when I think about how she placed herself and our baby at risk, I want to break everything within my reach.

I just don't understand why Ana thought this was a good idea. How did she rationalize this to herself as being sane? I understand she probably felt safe knowing she was armed, but the fucking gun didn't keep her from being beaten and cut up, now did it? I've already gone off on Ray for slipping Ana a gun behind my back, and not just because she's a high risk for doing stupid shit; she's also not thinking clearly. He didn't seem impressed by the fit I threw about his actions, and didn't back down from his initial reasoning, or offer an apology. I wonder if he'll have a change of heart when he finds out he's to be a grandfather.

"Mr. Grey."

My father and I turn at the same time. The two homicide detectives have entered the room, and the tall blonde woman, Yates or Bates – I don't remember her correct name, is looking at me warily. Looks like I'm the Mr. Grey she was referring to. Her partner, an equally tall, but much younger woman, whose name I didn't even care to know, is beside her; her expression is sour and irritated.

"Yes," I reply, trying to tamp my temper that just the sight of them causes to flare.

"Since Ms. Prescott's family was notified hours ago, and Leila Williams has none on record to inform, we are going to release a statement to the press momentarily. Inaccurate information is being leaked from employees at the hotel, and we need to put a lid on it. Seattle and the NTSB are doing the same. I knew you'd want a head's up before the—"

"The vultures descend?" I all but sneer at the woman, whose done nothing but her job, but at the same time, hindering what we've been trying to find out before she does. Ironic.

Dad audibly sighs beside me, and the younger detective rolls her eyes at me. Now my temper is being to simmer again.

"What time are you releasing the information?" Dad asks.

"Eight," the younger woman answers.

I think everyone in the room checks their watch. Fuck! It's ten till eight.

"You're just telling us now? You could have told us earlier, don't you believe? We have family that are in Seattle who haven't been told about this. We want to tell them, not have them learn about it on the goddamned morning news," I reply, my voice raised and tone hard.

Bates or Yates steps forward. "Mr. Grey, to be blunt, our concern isn't your family being informed of yesterday's events. You've had nearly twenty-four hours to do that. Our concern is getting to the bottom of what happened inside that hotel room. We are also shutting down the misinformation that's being spread,' she says, looking me square in the eyes.

I narrow mine at her. "What do you mean 'what happened inside that hotel room'? Isn't it fucking obvious that Leila Williams killed my employee, who happened to be her mother fucking accomplice?"

"What I mean, Mr. Grey, is that until we get Miss Steele's statement, we can't wrap this case up and put a bow on it. We can't be certain that Williams murdered Ms. Prescott."

My blood stream explodes as I roar, "Are you fucking implying that Anastasia could have killed that bitch Prescott? You told us that there were only one set of prints on that knife handle, and they belonged to Leila Williams. The mother fucking phones . . ." My words trail away as my voice goes hoarse from screaming.

Staunton, the friend that Dad called in for Ana walks around the table.

"Detective Bates, are you implying that Miss Steele slit that woman's throat? When did she do it? Before or after she let Leila Williams into that hotel room? That's ridiculous. Mr. Grey is correct about the phones being proof that those two women were working together, and that Miss Steele was the intended target." he states, looking angry, too. He looks at Bates and the other woman, who are staring at him impassively.

"Like I said, this case can't be closed until Miss Steele is able to tell us what occurred. She's the only witness, Mr. Staunton, and you're perfectly aware we have to have her statement," Bates replies.

Dad leaves the room, phone in hand. I'm sure he's going to call Elliot. Shit.

"When Miss Steele is able to give you a statement, you are not going to harass her or make her feel like you think she's not the victim here," I tell her.

The younger detective sighs and finally speaks. "No one is going to do that, Mr. Grey. You know the drill."

The drill? Don't they know how hard it's going to be on Anastasia having to describe what must have been a terrifying and traumatic experience? She's fucking downplaying how Ana will feel describing what happened to her, by calling it a 'drill'.

"Whatever, but I won't let you badger her, and I don't understand why you'd suspect any other scenario than the obvious one."

"Mr. Grey, Miss Steele isn't going to be badgered. We just need to know what happened, and, again, she's the only witness. We know she was brutalized." Bates pipes up, irritated, and looking tired.

I look at my watch. It's quarter after eight. Great. This is going to give journalists in the Pacific Northwest an orgasm. I hope Dad has thought to call Kate's father. He can rein in any outlets or papers he owns. I can only imagine the headlines the press is going to give this story. Fuck me.

Looking up, I level a glare at both women. "Yes . . . I agree she was brutalized. Rest assured, I won't allow her to be victimized, as well."

Before either have the chance to reply, Dad sticks his head back in the room.

"Son, Ray asked for you to go to Ana. She's mumbling your name, and he knows you want to be there when she wakes up," he tells me, his cell phone at his ear.

"She's waking up?"

He shakes his head. "Ray said he thinks she's just talking in her sleep, but wanted you there just in case."

I mechanically run my hands through my hair and look at Taylor, grimacing.

"Keep me informed about the shit storm," I tell him, heading out of the door.

I vaguely hear his, "Yes, sir."

'Sir'. Fuck, if I'd never been a goddamned, 'Sir', none of this shit would have happened. I think I'm going to order that all of my employees never address me that way again.

Then, entering the elevator, my cell vibrates in my pocket, and son-of-a-bitch, "Elena" is flashing on the screen. Fuck.

If it wasn't for this bitch, I'd never have any of these problems. There wouldn't be any of this sick, twisted shit around me and the lives of Ana and my family. I hit the reject button.

Fuck her.

* * *

The next chapter starts a series of jumps in time.

I'd like to thank all of the new followers that the story has gained.


	17. Chapter 17

_~Chapter Seventeen~_

 _Christian_

* * *

 **Seven weeks later**

"Does that hurt?"

"Well, it certainly doesn't tickle."

"I don't appreciate your smart mouth, Miss Steele," I murmur, my chin resting on her bare shoulder as I watch her squeezing the soft rubber balls in both of her hands.

"Don't then, Mr. Grey."

Smiling broadly, I lower myself onto the sun lounge beside Anastasia, who is efficiently doing the hand exercises that her occupational therapist schooled her in. She's wearing a large straw hat over an almost indecent royal blue bikini, and a look of deep concentration. I've noted that she no longer winces while she's doing this exercise.

I stare at the straw roof above us and take in the crystal-clear water of the Indian Ocean before me. We've spent the past two weeks here; a secluded luxury resort off the coast of Zanzibar. I rented four private villas to ensure we had complete privacy and for the members of my security detail to stay in. I'm looking very forward to this evening's famous Zanzibar sunset.

Ana's been lazing beside our villa's private pool all day, slathered in sunscreen to protect her beautiful porcelain skin and reading a book entitled, "What to Expect When You're Expecting." Idly, I wonder what chapter she's on. I have my own copy and am already into a woman's sixth month of pregnancy. It's already brought on several panic attacks. I'm scared shitless.

Other than Dr. Greene and her staff, along with the finest OB/GYN in the Pacific Northwest, who I paid well enough to accompany us on this vacation, only a select few are aware that Anastasia and I are expecting a child to be born in October: our security detail, Mrs. Jones, and both Kate and Elliot. Ana refused to place the burden of such a large secret on Kate, and I agreed. Kate not telling my brother would be betraying his trust and I don't want to be anywhere near that drama. At least they both can be trusted to keep their mouths shut. Elliot's had my back and secret for years. I trust him with my life. Even more so after our lengthy conversation while Ana was in the hospital.

Ana is ending her twelfth week of pregnancy, and those who aren't intimately acquainted with her flat and toned abdomen, wouldn't notice the tiniest of a bump beginning to protrude from it. Her already beautiful breasts are larger and her long hair seems to be glowing. She has always been the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, but now Ana's radiating like a goddess. I'm a walking hard on. The downside of this pregnancy is the unrelenting morning sickness she's going through. Scratch that, it's really all day and night sickness. That's a large part of the reason that I hired a private OB and nurse to travel with us. They've managed to keep Ana somewhat less than miserable and she's no longer losing any weight. God knows how little she weighed before she became pregnant.

We've been lucky that Ana hasn't experienced another blackout episode since the one at my mother's birthday party. Though our luck runs out when it comes to the nightmares Ana was already experiencing prior to the horrific ordeal with Leila and Prescott. Before, she was suffering from night terrors about memories she can't place. Now, she's suffering from ones that are all too real – the brutality and evil of Leila Williams. She's blessed if she only has two of the mother fuckers a week. I'm left rightfully feeling guilty that Ana's going through all of this. It's my fault that Prescott spoon fed Ana to Leila, and it's also my fault that Ana's mind is constantly reminding her of my harsh voice calling her a "good girl" and of the color red. Even though I've done my best to explain our past to her, I still know that I'm a lying bastard and that time is eventually going to bite me in the ass.

I should give her the journal she believes that was lost in the fire. I should have told her about Elena. I should have come clean and told her that Elena urged me to punish her and then went onto my knees to beg for her forgiveness. Fuck me. I should have told her everything; I should explain my sick past to her because I'm starting to feel uneasy about Elena and why she suddenly began calling me after months of no contact. The fact that she dared speak to Anastasia the day Ana answered my phone pisses me off and makes me wonder why she did so. The thought that Elena could have been purposely trying to trigger a locked memory is stuck in my head. Why would Elena want Ana to remember everything she knew before the Hyde attack? How can she be so sure the new Ana would remain quiet and keep our perverted past a secret? She very well knows I'm not one to be fucked with. Especially when it comes to the woman that I'm in love with.

Once Ana was coherent and stable enough to be questioned by the Portland police, I made sure she was brought back to Seattle and admitted to Harborview to continue with her care. Fucking Harborview again. I'm so sick of that fucking place. I was only able to keep everyone at bay for a couple of days before my family and the photographer descended on Anastasia asking her what in the hell she thought she was doing by trying and succeeding, to lure Leila Williams out of the hole the bitch was burrowed in. Kate went from mother hen to apoplectic in a matter of seconds. Mia kept nervously harping on Ana having a spa day, and Elliot wouldn't shut up calling her Annie Oakley. I think that Taylor, along with the rest of his detail are secretly proud of Ana, and Ray . . . Ray is still gruff and unapologetic for giving his unpredictable and too courageous for her own good daughter a god damn firearm. He told me we were all lucky that he did since his fear was justified, and for the first time ever, I wanted to take a swing at him – even though I know we all fucked up regarding Prescott. That won't happen again. Anastasia is now covered with four CPOs. Sawyer is her primary, with Parson, Reynolds, and Ryan under his command. It's ironic that Parson went from a man that I wanted to kill with my bare hands to the one I trust Ana's life with. I've never seen two unflappable men so disturbed as Reynolds and Parson were the day they found Ana in that hotel room.

After she had time to process what she'd been through, as well as the fact that she took a life, Ana had a meltdown and was seeing her psychiatrist, Dr. Rose, every day. Even though I swept her out of Seattle once she was deemed healthy enough, she's Skyping with Dr. Rose daily. I'm out of my mind with worry and have probably driven Flynn to drink due to the fact that I must be calling him five times a day. I've yet to tell him the truth over my dishonesty, and how I'm still trying to cover my ass. I can tell he's suspicious but hasn't come out and directly asked me anything. He'll probably fire me as a patient if I do decide to come clean.

Ana is fragile, and I can tell she's constantly on edge. I've delicately tried to talk about what happened that day but she's tight-lipped and keeps saying she's fine. Fine? Hell, I wouldn't even be fine if I'd gone through what she did. I hate that Ana had to go through something so horrible, but I'm ecstatic that fucking crazy cunt Leila is dead, even if I'm concerned her death might draw the unwanted attention of my previous subs or any journalist digging deeper into the life of Leila Williams, and why she was so determined to kill Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele.

The second the news of what happened broke, the press and paparazzi were relentless. From the reports I'm receiving, they still are. I swear that the entire Pacific Northwest blew up once word got out that there had been a double homicide in Portland's elite hotel, but once they found out who the scandal involved, it was a shit storm. There was also mention of it in a few national papers. Kate's father couldn't do much to contain it, and my entire PR department nearly quit from the stress of the press, and my constant out of control rants. I nearly began to hang my employees from the ceilings of Grey House. It was even a big story up in Vancouver, Canada where Leila was from, and that really kept me up at night. I'm still worried that someone who knows anything about my past, or her prior life, will come out of the woodwork and set off an atomic bomb. My family still looks at me with question marks in their eyes over the knowledge of my "secret women."

And now Ana knows about Rachel Warren being an ex-sub of mine. To say that conversation went over like a lead balloon is an understatement. I was once again caught in a lie – even if it was a lie of omission – and I know it must be eroding more of Ana's burgeoning trust in me. Rightfully, she's hurt that I didn't tell her and that she had to interact with the woman and share very personal information with her, but there wasn't anything that I could do about that. I fucking know I'm a bastard and should have told her. I keep telling myself that hiding my shit from Ana is because I don't want to hurt her, but I also admit that I'm terrified she's going to run from the weight of my baggage. I can't say that I'd blame her if she left me. I actually broke down and cried when she asked me if I thought she was a fool after learning about Mrs. Warren.

Now there's another grave puzzle that Welch and Taylor are killing themselves trying to put together: Leila telling Ana that I impregnated one of the fifteen.

I never had a sub suddenly end our contract like Leila told Anastasia. Not one, and that makes me almost certain Leila only told Ana that to fuck with her head. Regardless, we've been tracking down each former sub, and have turned their lives upside down trying to uncover anything that indicates what Leila said is God forbid the truth. So far, fourteen have been found with nothing suspicious hanging over them. The huge problem is with submissive fifteen, the last one that I had or wanted: Susannah. We can't locate her.

Granted, Susannah didn't stroll into my apartment one Friday evening and end our contract, but the fact that we can't find her is keeping me awake at night. We ended our contract because quite frankly, she grated on my last nerve. She was a seasoned submissive and took it in stride, along with everything I ever gifted her. There wasn't any animosity once the contract ended. What worries me is that unlike most of my subs, each procured by Elena, Elena never brought Susannah up once she was gone. More often than not, Elena would casually mention the other women - they'd been at Esclava or about their new Dom's. I never gave a fuck or replied. But looking back, and I've got a photographic memory, Elena never brought Susannah up once. I can't say that means anything, of course. It rubs me the wrong way regardless.

Susannah was an elementary school teacher who hailed from southern California. Welch found out from her parents that approximately two months after our contract ended, she was offered and accepted an overseas job to teach at a school on a military base for children of American service members. What's disturbing is that's all Welch can find out, and after initially talking with Welch, her parents have now refused to speak with anyone on my payroll. There's no trace of her on any flight out of the country, and he can't even uncover what country the job was in. No one by her name has been found at any such school, and there aren't any international calls on a single member of her family's phone records. Welch and Barney have already hacked into the computers of half of the OB's in Seattle, and can't find shit. I'm telling myself that's a good sign; I just can't shake the unsettling feeling I have concerning the mysterious disappearance of my fifteenth sub.

I've been completely forthcoming with Ana about our investigation to find Susannah. She says she doesn't believe what Leila told her. From her detailed description of what happened between the two women and the things Leila said to her, Ana does paint a picture of a woman who was mentally fucking with her. I'm still not taking any chances or letting this fucking shit go. What further infuriates me is that Ana told me that while Leila was taunting her, she said that some, or all of my former subs get together and talk about me. When security found each of these women, they were not so subtly reminded of what breaking their NDA would bring about. One, a sub from my early days of being a Dom, who was ten years my senior, decided to inform one of the guys that any one of them could take me down by those "worthless NDA's" and the copies of each document they all had that detailed "what Seattle's boy billionaire is really like." After hearing that, I destroyed my office – I'm well aware she's fucking correct. That was the only thing I kept from Ana. I didn't want her to hear that shit or worry that one of my previous subs would go public.

I'm jerked out of my thoughts by my vibrating cell phone. I don't have to look at Ana to know she's giving me a dirty look. She didn't want me to bring it and didn't care about the reasons that I told her I needed to.

I inwardly groan when I see the name on the display screen and contemplate letting it go to voicemail before thinking better of it.

"This better be good, Elliot," I mutter.

"Hello to you, big bro. Why the foul mood? Didn't they put a pretty little umbrella in your Pina colada?" He laughs at himself.

"Fuck off." I can't help myself.

Elliot laughs harder. "I forgot. You're a rich boy who only drinks pussy wine."

I sigh into the phone. I love my brother dearly, but he could annoy paint off of a wall.

"Rich boy? Is that a derogatory comment? Because if so, you're insulting yourself, too, dumb ass." I do my best to sound gruff and irritated, but find myself smiling.

"Whatever. How's the vacation going? How's Ana?" Now he sounds like the serious and concerned Elliot I know he really is.

"Excellent. Ana's good, physically that is. She isn't getting sick as often as she was. She's still having nightmares though, but they're also becoming less frequent. She seems to be enjoying herself."

"Good. That's really good. Kate's been bitching about you dragging her off to the equator the entire time you've been gone. If I didn't love her so much I'd kill her and bury her annoying ass under one of the houses I'm building."

I imagine Kate in all of her tall and blonde bitchiness driving my brother crazy and burst into laughter.

"Who is that?" Ana snaps at me in a hushed voice.

"Elliot," I mouth back.

She lays on her stomach, and I look at the still red scar on her upper back where Leila stabbed her. She rolls her eyes at me, I narrow mine back, and she rolls hers again. I grin as I check her out. God, her ass is beautiful.

"Sorry to hear that, El. Did you call to tell me you've got a bitchy woman on your hands? I assure you I already know that."

"Hey, stop talking about your girlfriend's best friend, dick head," he replies, emphasizing "girlfriend."

I stand and walk to the fence. "Elliot, shut up. I hope Kate isn't anywhere near you," I snap in a low voice.

"She's asleep. So, you haven't. . ."

"Fuck it, Elliot! I can't talk about this now. Ana's within feet of me and has the best hearing of anyone I've met. She's like the Bionic fucking Woman. Is that really while you called me? What time is it there? Shouldn't you be getting your beauty sleep?"

"No need to be jealous of your handsome older brother. I was just curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat." Jesus, what's up with him. I know he's full of shit.

"Funny, fuck face. I'm taking your reaction as negative. What are you waiting on, chicken?" he asks, or rather, goads me.

"Don't worry about it." I pause, knowing this isn't why Elliot called. "What's going on?"

He doesn't immediately answer and I tense up. I hear him exhale loudly.

"Elena's going on," he replies. His tone is hard and cold.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. The mention of her name instantly gives me a headache.

"Explain."

"You know how Mom shut out the bitch after she heard how she'd insulted Ana about her job? Well, I stopped by the house tonight, and Morticia's bony ass was sitting on the couch drinking wine with Mom."

I let his words sink in, and Elliot's quiet because he knows I'm either digesting the information rationally or getting reading to blow up.

"How did Elena worm her way back on Mom's good side?" I hiss through the teeth I'm grinding.

"I don't know. Dad had taken refuge in his study, and once I saw her, I joined him. He was irritated that Elena was there, but I knew better than to delve. I pulled into the driveway and when I saw her car I prayed that I was hallucinating."

"Mother fucker. I thought hearing how Elena treated Ana was enough for Mom to tell her to go to hell. I'm glad you didn't ask Dad anything."

Elliot laughs humorlessly. "Give me some credit, Christian. When was the last time that the whore called you? I don't see her reemerging in Mom's life and then starting to call you incessantly as a coincidence, dude," he says.

I stride into the open villa. I want to put as much distance between me and Ana as possible. The last thing that I want her to hear is this conversation.

"Neither do I. Did Elena say anything to you?"

"Fuck no. I hugged Mom and asked where Dad was. Elena threw me a smug look when Mom got up to greet me."

"Of course. Mom couldn't see it. Fuck."

"You don't like this, and I don't like this, Christian. Listen, I'm not going to handle eating another meal with that pedophile. Especially now. I've spent years dying to punch her in that plastic face of hers, man. But now. . . Christian, you've got to tell them," he replies.

I'm pulling at my hair and imagine that I'm choking the life out of Elena Lincoln. Now I'm convinced she's up to something, but for the life of me I can't figure out what.

"That's easy for you to fucking say, El!" I bark in a whisper.

"The fuck it is. Yeah, your shit is heavy, but I've got to tell them that I knew! Dad's going to knock me on my ass. I've told you Mom and Dad aren't going to fucking banish you from the god damn family, numb nuts. This isn't for you to worry about; it's the bitch's fault. Mom and Dad will see that." He inhales deeply. "They love you, they aren't going to suddenly hate your guts, bro."

My stomach churns and I suddenly feel like throwing up. I head to the refrigerator and grab a bottle of water that I place against my forehead. Why do I feel like Elliot is pushing me into telling my parents about my fucked past with Elena?

"You've always told me you wouldn't push this, Elliot. Why the fuck does it sound like you are now?"

"I'm not, Christian. I gave you my word back then and I'm not taking it back. But, bro . . . Shit, Christian. I'm not saying this to be judgmental, so shut your damn mouth before you say I am. What you told me when Ana was in the hospital . . . Fuck. Christian, aren't you worried she'll hurt Ana?" I hear a loud crash. It sounds like he broke something. "This is much more than her fucking you when you were a kid, man," he says quite loudly.

Incensed, I hurry into the bathroom and lock the door. I turn on the shower to drown out my own angry reply.

"What in the hell are you implying, Elliot? Do you fucking believe for one second that I'd allow that cunt to hurt Anastasia?" I snarl.

Before I can blink, he quietly retorts, "You already did."

My heart stops and stomach drops at the same time. Silence crackles through the phone and between the distance of two continents. I want to beat the fuck out of Elliot and shake his hand for speaking the truth at the same time. Neither of us says anything for a long moment.

"I shouldn't have said that, bro—"

I interrupt him. "Yes, you should have. Elena didn't ever lay a hand on Ana, but she did put the idea in my fucking head. My sick ass followed the road she was leading me down that day—"

Now Elliot interrupts me.

"Shove that self-loathing up Flynn's ass, Christian! That shit doesn't work on me. Jesus, how long are you going to sing that song? That cunt's fucked, not you." I hear another loud noise. "After you told me the truth about the two of you and about those women, I read up on BDSM. What that sagging bitch did to you was not what BDSM is about. She fucking brainwashed you, bro."

Flynn, Ana, and Elliot. Son of a bitch. I'm digging my fingers into my eyes. When I open them, I see stars.

"Don't go there, Lel. I'm not playing around. I do not want to hear another word about brainwashing or being a victim. You didn't call me a victim when you found out I was fucking her, did you?" I ask him, trying my best not to shout.

He scoffs, but I know he's getting ready to explode.

"I was mother fucking eighteen years old and didn't know she was beating the fuck out of you, and shoving shit up your ass! God damn, what's wrong with you? Are you fucking defending her?" Elliot's breathing heavily, and I hear him open and close the sliding glass doors to his backyard.

The only thing that's holding my rage back is knowing Ana could possibly hear me. I've fought with him over this for weeks, but not like this. Not until Elena showed back up.

"No," I reply. "I'm not a fool, Elliot."

"You sure as shit sound like one. A big mother fucking fool."

I want to tear the bathroom apart. I want to call John. I want Ana. No, Ana doesn't know.

"I'll ignore that, brother."

Elliot begins to laugh. A loud, but bitter laugh. "Like I give a fuck. You know what? I don't care if you deny that she abused you and pretty much ruined twelve years of your life. What I do care about is the fact that woman is our mother's so-called friend. I do care that your denial will once again cause that woman to be inside of our parents' home, and sitting down with me at family dinners—"

"Like it really bothered you before? Where has all of this outrage been hiding?" I ask sarcastically.

"Fuck you, Christian. It did bother me, and you fucking well know it. You know I hate her, I always told you that you were a dumb ass for helping her with those salons. Why? Do you want to know why? Because she was making our mother look like a fool. Because you, my baby bro, were allowing our mother to look like a fool." Elliot's voice is hushed and menacing. I've heard this voice several times – all right before he beat the hell out of someone.

I say nothing as tears fill my eyes. I know he's right. I've always known what he's saying is true. I've let the woman who saved my life down since the minute my parents brought me home.

"What do you want me to do, Elliot? Break our mother's heart? Is that it?" My voice breaks.

"Man, you're full of shit . . ." His words trail off. I can hear him muttering to himself, but can't make out what he's saying. "I'd love for you to tell our parents the truth, but I know you won't. You probably never will. I'll never go back on my word and break your confidence, even if I'm asked directly, so don't worry. But I do have some things to say, and you're going to fucking listen."

I don't respond, so he continues. Each word like a knife plunging into my heart.

"I will do everything that I can to prevent that evil woman from coming anywhere near Kate. If she so much as breathes on her in a way that I don't like, there will be consequences, and I'll willingly take the hit if Mom crawls all over me for not being a fucking gentleman again, just to save your ass. I will do everything in my power to keep Elena Lincoln nowhere near our baby sister. If she looks at Mia the wrong way, there will also be consequences, and if I end up in jail over my actions, I'll still save your ass. Thank God that Mia already hates the bitch. I don't suppose it ever bothered you that a woman who treated you the way she did as a fucking kid was near our baby sister, did it?"

The knife twists and I nearly choke. Jesus. Elena around Mia. Talking to her. Sitting beside her at fucking parties and family dinners. My, God.

"El—" I begin, but he pays me no heed and continues talking in that low voice. I'm well aware that my brother would be kicking my ass if we were in the same room.

"No, I'm sure you never considered that. Christian, I want you to listen very carefully to me now. Hell will open if I see that woman approach Ana. I remember those dinners and Ana's' reaction back then, and now I know why. Whether you believe it or not - whether you're no longer in business with Elena Lincoln or in contact with her - she's gunning for your woman, bro. Now that I know what happened – what you did – due to her influence, I can clearly see she's out to get rid of Ana. I don't mean fucking killing her, but I do see she was doing everything to rid Ana from your life and is probably still hoping she can. She's a leech, and she's managed to get back in with our mom. Elena hasn't done that because she missed their so-called friendship. Remember how many times she's called you? Think about the time she talked to Ana. The woman is dangerous; she isn't Leila Williams dangerous, but she's a danger to your relationship and to Ana. I love that girl, and I won't sit back and let her hurt her.

"I've kept my teeth on my tongue for a decade when I only thought you fucked her and believed you made our parents look like idiots then. But this BDSM and submissive shit has changed the game plan. Elena Lincoln has gone beyond just being bad for your life. I clearly see she's bad news for our family and for Kate and Ana. When you get back to Seattle and she starts trying to blast her way back into your life, which she will, by the way - enjoy dealing with her. Then consider what's going to happen when Ana either remembers or is told about Elena's little suggestion that you hit her with a belt. And if you are as smart as you think you are, you'd know that when Elena finds out Ana doesn't remember that, she's going to drool all over herself while she fucking fills her in.

"Bro, you're begging for trouble. You're on your knees asking for it the longer you keep this shit from Ana. I'll never tell anyone, even Kate, the woman I want to marry one day. Christian, the truth always comes out in the wash. I pray that Ana eventually gets her memory back, but you said she never knew the truth about you hitting her before that fucker attacked her. So if she gets her memory back and you aren't honest with her, you're fucked. If Ana never remembers jack shit and she finds out about Elena, and the belting she manipulated you into laying on Ana, you're still fucked. Your secrets and straight up lying to the pregnant woman you want to marry are going to blow up in your face and could very well fuck up everything between you and Ana.

"Your secrets and lying to our parents could come out, and not in the way you'd want them to, so imagine that nightmare scenario. It wouldn't fuck up their love for you, but you'd hate yourself more than you already do if they find out on their own."

Elliot takes a shuddering breath, and as I'm sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, I try to break into his monologue.

"Elliot, please. Listen, I know this, and I'm not going to let Elena Lincoln hurt Ana or my family," I murmur.

"Christian, I fucking love the shit out of you, but I hate to inform you that you're one blind mother fucker. You already have allowed Elena Lincoln to hurt Ana and our family, and man, you've let her hurt you, for what? Twelve or thirteen years? You haven't spoken to or seen that woman in months and you're still her puppet."

"I've never been anyone's god damn puppet!" I yell.

"You know what? I'm not going to give a power point presentation on the finer points of how you, the great CEO, has done everything that your pimp has told you to. You pay John Flynn for that, and I've got to say that he hasn't done a very good job of it," he replies.

"Maybe you should mind your own damn business, Elliot."

"It wouldn't be my business if you hadn't told me about all of this shit. Remember that? Guilt drove you to tell me the truth about who that batshit Leila Williams really was to you, what all of those women were to you, and why your entire adult life has been a fucking secret. Don't you agree it's time to finally remove Elena Lincoln from our lives?"

"I think this narrative is over." My voice is much weaker than my emotions. Elliot's scrambled my thoughts and I'm so angry I want to beat the shit out of something.

"Yeah, I agree. Don't believe for one second that I don't mean every word I said, Christian. Your secrets remain safe with me, but I will also keep the ones that I love safe. However, if I were you, I'd keep my fingers crossed that nothing happens that causes me to choose between keeping your secrets or keeping my loved ones safe," Elliot says matter-of-factly and evenly.

"Are you threatening me, Elliot?" I stare at my shocked expression in the bathroom mirror.

"Absolutely not. I'm just being the voice of reason. Seeing how you've placed me square in the middle of a pile of shit otherwise known as the lies and secrets you live with, I think I'm allowed to have a voice. I know you're used to being the scary CEO who causes commoners to quake in their shoes, but I'm not a commoner, and you, little bro, could never cause me to quake in my shoes."

"We're brothers and I don't want us at odds. I didn't mean to tell you about my shit and make it your burden. I should have just kept my damn mouth shut," I tell him.

"No, you shouldn't have. You told me because you needed to confide in someone and you know that you can trust me. None of this is my burden, Christian, it's yours. But it doesn't have to be. Shit, you could just let it go and it wouldn't be anyone's burden."

"Let it go? Meaning tell Mom and Dad about how Elena Lincoln introduced me to BDSM when I was fifteen? I could school them in the expert ways to use a cane across a woman's ass, and spill my guts about how my supposed girlfriends were really submissives that I had sexually deviant arrangements with. Then I can sit Anastasia down and tell her all about Elena, and then throw in the fact I allowed her to put Ana through hell for months in the name of being my friend, and that she did, in fact, spur me on to hit Ana with a belt. Is that what you mean? Would that be me letting everything go?"

"Who says you have to tell Mom and Dad about the BDSM or the women?" he challenges me.

I want to scream. "That's still lying by omission, now isn't it? I thought you want me to tell the truth!" I exclaim, anger coursing through me.

"I do want you to tell the fucking truth! I want you to trust our parents and tell them about Elena fucking Lincoln because it's wrong that our mother thinks she's her friend, bro! I've told you to tell them for years because the woman sitting across the dining room table from Mia was a pedophile succubus who probably laughs at Mom knowing she's clueless that she fucked her son for six years. You're scared of their reaction and I understand that—"

"You don't understand shit about me, Elliot. Don't even get started. I'm supposed to sit Mom and Dad down and tell them about the day they sent me to work over at Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln's house?"

"You are such a prick, and I do not mean that kindly. Yeah, you should finally sit our parents down and tell them about the sickness in our family, Christian," he throws it right back in my face. "It's fucking festering!"

"Oh, so I'm the family sickness? Is that what you're telling me now?"

"God damn, how are you a successful businessman? You only hear what you want to and then twist it into some new negative label for Christian Grey," he screams down the line emphatically. "The sickness isn't you! Go fucking sit in the sand and think really hard about what I said. Figure your shit out, man. I want you to make it right so it doesn't pound you in the face down the line. If you don't, I promise you that the truth will be coming to a theater near you very soon."

"What the fuck?" I scream back at him. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Elliot sighs. When he speaks, he sounds utterly exhausted. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Forget why I called. Fuck, just forget that I called. My lips are sealed. If I ever have the misfortune of running into Lincoln's cunt ass, I'll kick it if she looks at anyone that I love the wrong way. Give Annie Oakley a kiss from me and have a great vacation."

"El!" My words are met with silence. Elliot hung up on me.

I'm back on the tiled bathroom floor staring at the phone in my hands. My head is pounding and I don't have any idea how to process what transpired between me and my brother. I've probably just completely alienated him. I run through every word he uttered and change my mind. He said nothing judgmental or anything that I don't already know. Yet I'm fucking furious and want to knock him on his ass. He was only calling to tell me fucking Elena was sitting her ass in our family home and made an excellent argument that she's more than likely trying to stir up shit. I just don't understand why Mom would allow her to step over the threshold of our home after knowing how Elena slighted Ana. That makes zero sense; my mother adores Ana. I already know she'll be out of her mind happy when she finds out that Ana is making her a grandmother. I can't ask myself why Elena kept trying to contact me considering I'd know if I'd have taken one of her fucking calls. God, Elliot, I don't need anyone to remind me of what an asshole I am for not telling Ana or our parents about this shit fucking mess.

Elliot's description of Elena being dangerous to Ana and our relationship rings true. I know it's true because she nearly succeeded in splitting us apart because I kept telling Ana she was my friend and that's why she was still in my life, despite hurting Ana. My actions led to the ultimatum Ana gave me the night before our lives were flipped over when she was attacked. Fuck. I can see Elliot's face walking into our parents' home and seeing Elena sitting in the living room. Smug. He said she looked smug.

Elliot called to warn me about Elena, I didn't like what he was saying, or maybe he just confused the shit out of me. Fuck, I don't know. I only know it was the most heated argument I've ever had with my brother, and it was about Elena Lincoln. I'm not a fucking blind idiot. I know Elena fucking messes everything up, but what Elliot wishes that I would finally do . . .

I jump, and it takes me a second to realize why.

Someone is knocking on the door.

It's Ana knocking on the bathroom door.

"Christian, why is the door locked? Christian? Christian?" her angelic voice, its musicality is oozing through the door.

I turn off the shower and swing the door open and look down in her eyes. Ana's beaming at me and her cheeks are flushed. She grabs my arm and starts pulling me towards her.

"Christian, come on!" she screeches excitedly. "Hurry, the sun is setting! Come on, we'll miss it."

Today's Zanzibar sunset.

My mind and steps falter when it hits me. I have to make an effort to keep from dropping my head in disappointment. I allow my pint size ball of enthusiasm to lead me through the villa, and my eyes land on the picture that covers a safe.

Fuck. I fucked this up because I was arguing with Elliot. The only reason that I was arguing with him was because of Elena Lincoln.

The bitch strikes again.

I tear my eyes off the picture and dutifully follow Ana outside doing my best to hide the fact that I want to imagine a wall is Elena's face and repeatedly punch it.

Outside, the sun is setting, a sunset like no other I've witnessed. Ana's face is shining with happiness as she looks up at the sky, and the ambient light is highlighting her hair. She looks like the angel that she is, and I tell myself that as the sun sets over Zanzibar tomorrow, Ana won't be looking up at the sky. She'll be gazing down into my eyes.


	18. Chapter 18

_I edited this chapter for hours and I'm sure it's still full of mistakes._

* * *

 _~Chapter Eighteen~_

 _Christian_

* * *

"What?" I barely recognize my own voice.

I stare at Anastasia's reflection in the bathroom mirror that we're both facing. My new scruffy bearded face is undoubtedly the color of bone. I can feel my heart hammering against my rib cage and nausea has captured me. The world has just come to a grinding halt.

I don't understand. Why is she just asking me this now? It's been six weeks.

Ana's eyes lock onto mine, but not in an unkind way. Her forehead is crinkled from confusion. She looks earnest, and her voice was quietly pleading for answers. My worst fear realized.

She is dressed and ready to go spend several hours at the spa; I plan to keep her away from the villa for a while. Preparations have been made. People are on their way to make this perfect. To aid me in executing the biggest acquisition I've ever made.

But Ana suddenly entered the bathroom while I was pulling a white t-shirt over my head and asked a question that blew a hole in the atmosphere. I'm doing my best to keep the panic I'm feeling from showing all over my face. She can read me like no other.

There's a poignant pause before she replies. Ana swallows and looks down at her hands. Her eyes hold threatening tears when she looks back up at me. Rather, at my reflection in the mirror. I've yet to turn around and face her. My legs are now jelly. Her question has immobilized me.

She licks her parted lips and gazes at me intently. Ana's eyes are wide and full of trepidation.

"You didn't hear me?" she quietly asks.

The crippling secret I'd kept from her since the moment I met her is in the spotlight. The one thing that will make her run. Run, and hide from me for the rest of her life. Undoubtedly, I am about to lose the only woman that I have ever, or will ever, love.

I take a deep, shuddering breath and turn to face her. My mind goes straight to yesterday's heated exchange with Elliot. How he laid out the cold hard truth before me and warned me of what would come if I continued to lie to Ana. 'You're fucked.' he'd told me, and that was about Elena Lincoln, the only person who could answer the question Ana's just asked me. The bitch who would probably delight in telling her.

A part of me always knew this day would come. It haunted me before Ana lost her memory; I would close my eyes and imagine her finding out and leaving me with a disgusted look on her face. It was another secret I kept from her. If I lie to her now, it will be yet another one.

"I heard you." I nod slowly. I glance around our surroundings. We can't have this conversation in a fucking bathroom. "Come. Let's go sit."

Ana's face is full of unspoken questions. Her blue eyes want answers. She looks genuinely puzzled as she slowly makes her way into the bedroom and perches on the end of the bed we've made love on countless times during this idyllic getaway.

I sit close beside her, but not so close that I'm unable to see her face. I know I must look shell-shocked and terrified. I can feel the horror burning behind my eyes. Ana reaches up and gently pushes my unruly hair off of my forehead. Her fingers are soft and cool.

"Why haven't you brought this up sooner?" I ask. Why hasn't she mentioned this already? It's nearly been two fucking months. I'm so confused. I'm so fucking scared.

Her cheeks flush, enhancing her flawless, pale skin. She almost looks ashamed, and I can't help myself from reaching out and taking her hands. Ana clears her throat.

"To be honest, I was afraid to." She suddenly looks guilty. "Not of you, not of you, at all. I've been scared to. . . know. To know if it's true, and if it is, what that could possibly mean." She takes a shuddering breath. "I've talked to Dr. Rose about it, and she said the only way to know is to ask you. . . For me to stop being afraid of the unknown and take control. . ."

My confusion softens, and my guilt intensifies. My girl's mind really is a blank canvas and she's struggling with that fact more than she lets on. She's probably been walking around terrified of finding out more bad shit about me since I told her about my previous sex life and our early relationship. About me hurting her.

But I wasn't prepared for this. Not in a million years did I expect this; I've cringed every time that I've thought about it, but have always held onto the hope it would remain buried. Jesus Christ. Now I know that I'll definitely lose her. The truth will repulse the living hell out of her and she'll be on the first plane back to Seattle.

I am going to lose Ana, my reason for existing. I won't be able to continue living. Not without her; I'll can't go on without my Ana.

Yet I'm overwhelmed with certainty. I'm certain that I need to tell Ana the truth. As sick as it is, whether I lose her or not, she's already suffering from the fear of the unknown. I refuse to add another brick of pain onto her fragile shoulders. If I'm still too much of a coward to tell her about Elena and why I belted her, I owe her the truth about the worst of my depravity. I'll just have to deal with the consequences because the delicate creature in front of me deserves some fucking honesty.

"I can understand that. I'm sorry if I've caused you to fear to ask me things. I know that I'm responsible for that," I murmur. "I don't want you afraid of anything, and I'm so sorry that you are."

"You haven't made me fear you, Christian. That isn't it at all. I've honestly been afraid of what the truth could possibly mean. If it means anything. Will you tell me?"

I bring one her hands to my mouth and kiss her knuckles. Her eyes are shining with sincerity, while mine are probably shining from my terror. My blood is pounding in my eyes. I'll tell her the truth, no matter what it could cost me.

"Yes, I will. I promise. Would you tell me what happened, though? What Leila said to you?" Before I ruin my life, I need to know what that bitch, who I know is burning in hell, told Ana. I have to know.

Her eyes widen again and she hesitates. She very subtly tilts her head to one side.

She doesn't want to revisit that day. I can only imagine how the memories must frighten her.

"I remember when I first saw her. . . I... I noticed that she looked like me. I immediately thought we could pass as sisters. Yeah, her eyes weren't blue and she was a bit taller than I am, but she. . . was small framed like me. Her hair was highlighted blonde, but it was still brown – not dark like mine – and not as long. I was just taken aback because we nearly looked alike." Ana speaks quietly, yet firmly. Her eyes haven't left mine, and I know why: she's reaching for the truth.

I nod, momentarily unsure of how best to reply. She's waiting, though. Her expression is dubious at best.

"I agree. The resemblance—"

"Was an uncanny?" Ana interrupts me.

I nod again like an idiot unable to speak. When I do, my voice is strained.

"Yes."

We continue to stare at one another and I've lost the read on her expression. Her hands are now grasping mine tighter. She says nothing.

"Will you tell me what Leila told you?" I can barely ask the question.

"She told me that all of those. . . She told me that all of your submissives looked like me. Like her. She said you have a 'type', and they're petite brunette women. That we all look the same." Ana's whispering like she's telling a secret. She looks both hurt and hopeful. Hopeful that I'm going to deny what Leila told her. Fuck, I wish that I could.

"First off, there is no "we." You look nothing like those women. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and you aren't anything like them. I promise."

"But we're all petite women with brunette hair? Do you only like women who look like that?" Her voice is tremulous and she's nearly got a death grip on my hands.

I want to burst into tears, but I man up and do the right thing. I have to answer honestly because this isn't the worst of what I must tell her.

"Yes. All of my submissives were little brunette women, and I am, well, I was, only attracted to brunettes."

I wait for it. And wait. And wait.

Ana is carefully scrutinizing me; she's holding her breath. I watch as she opens and closes her mouth a couple of times before asking the question that I know is coming. The question I've dreaded since I realized I had to have her even though I didn't deserve her. The undeniable truth of how twisted I am. The reason that I can never be normal. Why I'll never be a normal man like my father or brother – any man for that matter. Compared to the sickness that is Jack Hyde, I might be a better man, but if you really think about it, my depravity is engraved inside my bone marrow, probably like his is. There is no ridding myself of who I truly am.

Ocean blue eyes drag me back into the bedroom. They're searching and walking a fine line between wanting to know if there's a meaning behind all of this and wanting to remain comfortably oblivious. It's breaking the heart Ana gave me.

She blinks, and with one word, possibly ends my existence.

"Why? she whispers.

The silence is insurmountable and I'm not so sure that I'm breathing. My eyes dart around the room for divine intervention, but I have no such luck. All lights, and Ana's eyes are on me. I look back at her.

"Why were all of the women brunettes?" I ask, even though I know what she meant. I'm stalling. Just tell her, Grey. Be a fucking man and finally tell her the god damn truth.

"Yes." She looks annoyed and sounds impatient.

"Anastasia, I swear that I'm going to be completely honest with you. Do you believe that?"

Fuck, it feels like her hand is already on the door. Surprising me, she answers without hesitation.

"Of course."

I pull one of my hands from her to mechanically run it through my hair. I must not look away. I have to say this while looking her directly into her eyes. Faith and trust. Trust and faith.

"There's no reason for me to repeat the story of the crack whore—"

"Christian, I've told you not to call your birth mother that," Ana breaks in. "You don't know what she went through."

"I sure as fuck know what I went through," I harshly reply. Too harshly.

Ana shakes her head but doesn't speak. She's looking at me expectantly.

"I apologize for speaking that way. It wasn't directed at you. This is very uncomfortable and difficult to say, so please be patient with me for a minute." I shut up to gather my wits that are now floating in the Indian Ocean. "You've seen the picture of my birth mother, I know. Do you remember what she looked like?"

Anastasia looks at me thoughtfully and I see the wheels in her mind begin to roll. One flutter of her long eyelashes is all it takes for me to watch her eyes light up from solving the puzzle. But she still doesn't understand what the puzzle means.

"She was a brunette. Small, delicate, almost waif-like. Beautiful," she answers. I don't recognize disgust in her voice. Yet.

"She was a . . . brunette." I refuse to call the crack whore beautiful. "It's not a secret that I feel tremendous anger whenever I think of her and what she allowed to happen to me. You and our relationship have tempered a lot of that anger, but it's still there. It probably always will be. Before I tell you anything further, please know I'm not using my feelings for the crack whore as an excuse because I'm not. I'm honestly telling you the reason behind my actions."

We're holding hands again, I'm not sure who took whose hand, but I'm grateful. I'm hanging on to Ana for dear life. Fuck. Confiding my sickest shit to anyone other than John feels strange, and I'm so afraid of what she's going to think of me.

"Ana. . ." I pause, grasping for the right words. I can even hear the pain in my voice.

Her eyes widen and she gasps. "Your submissives all looked like your birth mom, didn't they? That's why you. . . You were. . ." Ana's epiphany trails off after it blows my mind.

Either I'm transparent and predictable as sin, or she has the instincts of, well, fuck if I know what she has instincts like. I know she's intelligent, but shit. If my fucked-up life and psyche are that easy to figure out, why in the fuck do I keep John Flynn dressed in custom-made suits?

Anastasia's eyes grow even larger and she's gaping at me. I inhale half of the oxygen in the room and swallow. My world is slowly stopping, but I press on. I have to tell her the truth. She can't guess it or make a false assumption.

"I contracted them because they all looked like my birth mother. I couldn't punish her, so I found little brunettes to beat." I may have only said two sentences, but it felt like I had just told Ana the entire story of my life. Again.

I'm staring straight at her, but don't see her face. I only see the expression of pain and sudden panic crossing it.

"You weren't only whipping those women, Christian," Ana whispers. "You were fucking them." She pulls her hands from mine and places them on her forehead. "BDSM. ... Bondage and Discipline. Domination and Submission. . . Sadism and Masochism. . . You enjoyed hurting them?" She sounds incredulous.

I want to grab her and hold her so tightly she won't be able to run. I can see it on her face; she's panicking. I can hear the disappointment in her voice. Ana's figured it out. She's going to run.

"Yes. Yes, I enjoyed it," I murmur, looking down at my hands. My now empty hands.

She shakes her head like she's trying to rid her mind of something awful. Hell, she probably is. Her arms are now limp and in her lap.

"After you told me the truth about our past, I read all about that shit. You said you were a Dominant, Christian. If you enjoyed it, though. . . that means that you're—"

"A sadist." I save her from finishing the horrifying sentence. I'm mortified. I have never felt this way in my entire life. I've never felt this exposed or dissected as I do right now – not even with John.

I've never seen Ana as pale as she is right now. She's still, like a statue and staring at me with a blank expression. I feel like squirming from being underneath the spotlight.

"You said you were a Dominant. You explained what being a Dominant was. You never told me you were a sadist." Her voice breaks.

"No, I didn't," I murmur.

Ana puts her head in her hands, and I hear her muffled words, "I didn't ask. I didn't think to ask you."

Her words confuse me. She sounds desolate, and I'm not sure what she could be thinking. I gently pull her hands away and she gazes up at me.

"You sound as if you're blaming yourself for something. What's running through your head? Tell me."

"If I had asked you if you got off on hurting women, then I'd know you really don't enjoy what I give you. What we do. I wouldn't believe I was enough. Once you told me about our early relationship, I immediately doubted that I could keep you satisfied. I doubted keeping your interest. Now I know I was right, and if I'd only asked you, I'd have known months ago." Tears are rolling down her cheeks.

I frown at her. "Anastasia, I don't just enjoy being with you, being with you completes me. You're everything that I need and then some. I'm completely satisfied with you, baby. You're more than enough. Please believe me," I beg.

"How do I believe I can satisfy a man who'd rather have sex where he gets off hurting women? I don't understand how I'm what you need or how it's possible that our boring sex life satisfies you. Oh, God. I just told myself it was all kinky sex, even though I knew all of that punishment and pain shit was so much more than kinky sex."

"Whoa, Ana. What we do in bed isn't fucking boring, shit, it's mind-blowing. You satisfy my every need – and not just sexually. Being with you, and losing you after I hurt you made me see my world in an entirely different light. I wanted you, Ana. I knew I could only have you if I walked away from that part of my life; I knew I had to change, and I wanted to change. You are who I want and who I need. All of the trappings of my old life are all that – old. Gone. You did that."

Please, believe me, baby. Please. It's true. Every word I've said is the truth.

"How does someone who enjoys inflicting pain during sex suddenly stop wanting to hurt the one they're with?"

"I can't speak for anyone else, but I stopped because you didn't want any part of BDSM. You hated it, but sacrificed yourself to please me – and then I hurt you. I would never ask you to do that again, Ana. I'd never dream of hurting you. I'd rather chew off my own hands that hurt you again. It took you walking out of me to make me realize that I had to stop that BDSM bullshit. You cured me."

Ana's brows shoot up. "I cured you?" she asks cautiously, sounding like she thinks that's bullshit.

"Yes."

"How? You're telling me that I took away your urge to whip and fuck brunette women who look your birth mother?" Her voice is loud and now sounds angry. Her face is almost as disgusted as I imagined it to be. Fuck, that does sound sick.

I stare down at the hardwood floor. "You leaving me took the urge away. I no longer want to beat and fuck women who remind me of the crack whore." I've never felt such shame.

Anastasia gasps again, but I dare not look at her.

"I can't believe this. . . I don't understand how. . ." Her words slow and trail off.

"How someone could fuck a woman who looked like the woman who gave birth to them? It's sick, I know. I know I'm sick," I say, standing. I begin to pace the room. "It's not an excuse – this isn't an excuse. I always wanted her to feel the pain she allowed me to feel. I wanted her to know the anger and hatred she left me with. I found that I could let some of that anger out by beating women who looked like her." I'm near tears from the rising panic I'm beginning to feel. Ana's as still as a stone and staring into space. I can feel her slipping away.

"I know it's sick. Hell, it's beyond sick. I never imagined that I was fucking her, though. I didn't. . . It was the BDSM scene. Everything became fuzzy and crossed lines. I was too fucked in the head to understand why I had to have a woman who resembled the crack whore to beat, and then I'd fuck her. John explained it. . . He tried to tell me how my brain worked. Ah, fuck. I don't know what I'm saying, Ana. I don't know how to make anyone understand what's wrong with me. Why I did such sick shit. I'm just fucked up and not normal. She fucked me up. She made me believe that I had to—"

Anastasia's head snaps towards me and she shoots up off the bed. She looks confused.

"Your birth mother made you believe you had to do what? She died when you were four, Christian. How does a dead woman make you believe you have to do anything? You aren't making any sense. What are talking about?" she asks.

My pacing comes to a complete halt. Not because she's standing in front of me, but because of what I've realized I've just said. The crack whore fucked me up but didn't suggest that I only have subs who resembled her. No. That was Elena Lincoln. She made me believe that, and I just nearly told Ana. Mother fucker.

Elena said that my first sub should be a little brown-haired girl. She told me if I wanted to learn how to best punish a sub, I should draw upon the hatred I have for the crack whore, and a good way to do that was to "practice" on the petite brunette girl she introduced me to – who resembled my birth mother.

Elena convinced me that what spurred me on in life is the anger I fell for the woman who brought me into this world and that having any positive or caring feelings for people would prevent me from succeeding. She pounded all of that into my head, always reminding me that love is for others, never for me – saying it was all true because I had loved my birth mother and she allowed me to be abused – that she didn't love me.

Elena repeatedly told me that maintaining strict control of my life was the only way that I could survive in this world, and the only way I could enjoy life was to live one that revolved around BDSM. It couldn't just be the sex, I had to be a Dominant in all aspects of my world. It was the only way for a person like me. Someone out of control, with the need to punish others, and the best way to maintain control and channel my frustration and anger was punishing women who looked like my birth mother.

Son of a bitch. Although I believe I am a natural born Dominant, one who runs his company as one – distant, hard, and in complete control, I'm now able to step out of that mindset in my personal life, well, except when it comes to protecting Ana and my family. When it comes to my newborn life and relationships with my family, it's disappeared – because of Anastasia.

What might have been if Elena Lincoln had seduced me in a loving way? How would I have lived had she taught me how to be affectionate in ways that bypassed my issues of being touched? Would I have spent years aloof and a complete bastard had Elena "rewarded" me with a gold fucking star instead of letting me fuck her ass?

I feel every bone in my body slump from the realization that I'll never know.

Ana has taken my hands and is saying my name. It takes a moment to reorient myself to the present and the beautiful woman dressed in a sundress before me. I slowly shake my head.

"Where did you go? You completely zoned out," she utters, with an alarmed tone in her voice.

"I'm. . . I got lost in my thoughts. I went to a—"

"Bad place?" Ana interjects.

"Yeah, a very bad place," I admit.

She cocks her head to the side and has a small smile on her face.

"I'm sorry, I know it must be painful. I can't imagine. I'd do anything to remove those memories from your mind. You do know that, Christian? Right?"

I stare at her wide blue eyes that are now brimming with tears. I yank her into my arms roughly and bury my face in her hair.

"I know, baby. That's one thing I'll never doubt. I love you, Anastasia. So much. More than I imagined a person could ever love anyone."

Ana squeezes me hard and kisses the base of my neck.

"Christian you aren't sick and twisted. I've told you that a million times and I'll never stop telling you. You're a good man, a really good man. One who loves me, and I still don't exactly know why."

I untangle myself from her and move so I can look down at her face. I use my index finger to tilt her chin upward.

"Anastasia, I love you because you are everything that is pure and good. You are and have been since we met, the most perfect human being I've ever met. I can't find the words to articulate how wonderful you are," I reply.

"I love you, too. Unconditionally, Christian. I don't understand why you did what you did, the reasoning is beyond me, but it was also before me. I can't hold that against you, even if I don't understand. But with unconditional love, a person loves you in spite of another's faults and actions. I love you that way, Christian. I honestly love you unconditionally." Ana uses the backs of her hands to wipe away the tears that have covered her cheeks and chin. "Do you ever have the urge to punish me now?" she asks in a small whisper. It's barely audible.

"God, no! Ana, I said I'd rather lose a limb due to my own doing than hurt you. The very thought is nauseating. I want to cherish and love you forever. I only want to protect you and give you the world." I emphatically answer her. "And you are nothing like those other women, and you're sure as hell nothing like my birth mother. Please say you believe me."

My stomach flips and then flops. Ana is studying me, but I can tell she doesn't doubt my words.

"I believe you. I know that you love me and will do everything you can to protect me. After all, I have four huge men surrounding me everywhere that I go," she tells me, a grin spreading across her lovely face.

She stands on her tiptoes and chastely kisses my lips. I find myself smiling at her in return. The tension and heavy sense of doom have left the room and are no longer a bubble covering us.

"Is there anything else you'd like to know. . . about this? Do you want to discuss this further?"

Ana's expression softens. Her eyes are shining brightly.

"No. I'd rather put it behind us. Now that you've told me what I needed to know, and then some," she says wryly. "Are you all right? I know that you don't like talking about your birth mother, and I'm sure what you told me was difficult. I don't want you upset. I don't want you to have a nightmare because we don't resolve this right now. I don't want to deal with a brooding Christian Grey." Her large grin makes her glow.

"I brood, you say, Miss Steele?" I've bent down and we're face to face. I rub my nose against hers.

She laughs. "Mr. Grey, you're the definition of the word "brood."

"Shall we have another go 'round of your use of big words and their definitions?"

"Absolutely, not. I'd hate to prove a Harvard education isn't that impressive."

I stand, smirking at her. "Don't let Carrick Grey hear you say that," I reply.

"I'm not scared of your dad the lawyer, who's really a huge teddy bear."

"Well, I am," I say, only half-joking.

Ana laughs again and goes to pick up her over-sized purse, throwing it over her shoulder – the one Leila didn't slam a knife into.

"I'll let you stay here and do whatever it is you're going to do, while I go the spa as planned."

I glance at my wristwatch. Shit.

"You sure you're good? I'm willing to answer anything else that you want to know?"

Ana shakes her head. "No, I'm overflowing with knowledge. I'm ready to relax and just forget about this. I don't want to ruin the rest of our wonderful time here talking about things that will ruin it."

I nod. "OK, but you can always ask me anything, no matter what," I tell her.

She only smiles, then slips her sandals on. "I'm good. I'm also ready to go. I can't wait to see the guys miserable as sin in a spa."

I have to laugh. "Take a picture and text it to you me." I tap out a quick text to Sawyer, and within a minute he appears with Parson, Reynolds, and Ryan. I watch Ana roll her eyes when they all descend around her tiny frame. It does look ridiculously funny.

"Miss Steele is ready to head out. She's not to leave your sight, understood?" I address the four of them. They all nod.

"Yes, sir," Sawyer replies. They part like Moses parted the Red Sea, and allow Ana to walk out of the villa.

"Let's go get facials, guys." I hear her tell them, and I swear that I hear one of them quietly groan. I'm forced to laugh again as I check the time. Jesus, I hope Ana doesn't run into the army I have coming to make everything as I want it. This has to be perfect, and at the very moment, the sun begins to set.

* * *

Two hours later, I've showered off the nervous sweat that's been running off of me, and I'm only half listening to Taylor, who's telling me the security guys will be hovering close, yet not visible to Ana. I check the time, and only minutes have passed since the last time I looked. Fuck, I'm about to shit my pants. I'm barefoot, wearing a pair of loose-fitting khaki cargo shorts, and a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I check my pocket again, and I swear Jason laughs at me.

"Luke says they're on their way back with Miss Steele, sir. She'll be here soon," he tells me.

I finally look his way, and yeah, he looks ready to burst into laughter. He's obviously finding the state I'm in funny. I scowl at him, but it doesn't wipe the smirk from his mouth.

"Something funny, Jason?"

His amused expression stays in place. "No, sir," he replies.

I just can't help it. I loudly laugh.

"Laugh all you want. You'll be doing this soon yourself if my instincts are correct," I tell him.

Jason raises an eyebrow, knowing all too well what I'm referring to. He grins.

"We know your instincts are rarely wrong, Mr. Grey."

"I like to believe so. Why the fuck am I so nervous?" I ask, running both of my hands through my still damp hair.

"Because there's a very good chance your life is about to change. . . again, sir."

He means Ana turning my world upside down, and the baby; the very thought of a family with Anastasia has increased my heart rate. God, I hope I don't make an asshole out of myself.

"True, true," I mumble. "And everything and everyone else is here, just in case she. . ." I stop myself from saying the words out loud. I hope Ana agrees with what I have planned. This could be one of the best days of my life.

"Yes, sir. Everything is as you required, sir." Taylor's cell buzzes. He looks up and doesn't have to tell me. Ana's almost here.

"You can go down. Make sure the guys make themselves scarce once Ana's here."

"Yes, sir."

With that, Jason Taylor evaporates, and within seconds, Anastasia breezes into the villa, smelling like jasmine. Her long hair is wavy and flowing down her back, and her face is flushed. I quickly take in the light pink polish on her finger and toenails. How appropriate to the colors I chose.

She stops in mid-stride, and I follow her eyes as they take in the room. The lights are all off, and only the soft glow of the clear and pink Christmas lights that are strung from the ceilings, illuminate the room. They lead a path down to the beach; if my plans go accordingly, we'll need them after the sun sets.

Nearly every off-white and blush pink flower on the planet fills the room. They, like the lights, trail down to the beach.

Ana whips around to me, eyes huge and gaping. Her purse has slipped off of her shoulder and is sliding down her arm. I watch as it unceremoniously hits the flower covered floor. I just stand gazing at her, marveling how more beautiful the room has become since she entered it. She blinks at me, and I make my way to her.

"Christian. . ." Her surprised whisper trails off and a single tear runs down her cheek. I hope that's a good thing and not just pregnancy hormones.

"I've been waiting for you. You look lovely," I murmur and take one of her hands in mine.

"This is lovely. So beautiful."

"Do you like it? The colors remind me of your blush."

On cue, her cheeks turn pink. "I more than like it. Oh, Christian, it's beautiful."

I allow my shoulders to drop from relief, but then tense up again thinking this is the easy part.

I shrug, not really wanting to move my eyes from her perfect face.

"I'm glad you like it. I was worried you wouldn't," I softly admit.

"I don't like it. I love it. What is this?"

I use my chin to point to the other side of the villa, open, and leading down to the beach. I can tell that the sky is changing and we need to make our way out now.

"Come," I murmur, tugging on her hand and leading her across the room. I stop before we step outside. "Take off your sandals."

Mute, Anastasia kicks them off, and they clatter on the floor. I lead her out, and the way to the water's edge is lined with even more flowers and small lanterns. She gasps once we reach our destination; I've created an altar from the same flowers that are interwoven with the Christmas lights.

I don't stop until we're beside the altar and our toes are touching the water that laps them. Ana's eyes don't know whether to look at me or the Zanzibar sky that's been lit alive by its famous sunset.

I gently squeeze her hand. She still doesn't say anything. I'm sure she knows, but she must be speechless. That's got to be a good sign.

"The colors are amazing, aren't they?" I ask, looking into the heavens.

"Inexplicably beautiful," Ana whispers.

We're surrounded by endless shades of burnt orange and flaming red. The colors cocoon us and cover the crystal blue water.

"This sunset is the sole reason I brought you here. I wanted you to see something as beautiful as you, but once I was here, and saw it myself, I'm convinced that nothing in this world is as beautiful as you."

And it's true.

I glance at her and can tell she's holding her breath. There's a look of awe on her face. I look back at the sky as it changes because the world is slowly turning.

We stand, holding hands, in silence while the earth does its job, and the burnt oranges and flaming reds fade away.

Showtime.

"That has amazed me every evening that we've been here. I'm so happy that you brought me," I vaguely hear Ana whisper.

I take a step back. She's still looking over the ocean. I tug on her hand to get her attention. My heart is beating so fast that I think I'm going to hyperventilate. Ana turns her head, and in order to meet my eyes, she has to look down where I've sunk to one knee.

Her clear blue eyes are sparkling and new tears are about to overflow. She quickly covers her mouth with her right hand. Thank Jesus it's her right one. I hope to fuck that I don't look like the terrified idiot that I feel like. I'll never have another chance to do this, so I don't get a do-over if I fuck it up. I swallow and hope Ana sees the sincerity in my eyes.

I reach into the pocket of my shorts and pull out the ring, looking up at her, trying to remember what I planned on saying to her. What I need to let her know.

"Anastasia Steele, I love you. I want to love, cherish, and protect you for the rest of my life. Be mine. Always. Share my life with me. Marry me." The words come out as I hoped. At least I didn't fuck that up. I'm still tense and my shoulders are probably up to my neck.

Ana's eyes are full of emotion and she's trying to blink her tears away. I hear a choked sob from behind her hand, and her small shoulders shake. The soft sound of ocean waves is like background music.

"Yes," she breathes after uncovering her mouth.

Fuck. If you're real, thank you, God. I sag from relief, and for some strange reason, feeling shy.

I slowly slide the ring on her finger. Her hands are shaking. The ring, a flawless oval diamond set in a platinum ring. Anastasia would kill me if she knew how much money it cost. But I would give away my last penny for her, if it made her smile.

She begins to cry, and I stand up to gather her into my arms. I'm overcome with emotions that I don't understand, but they're all good. The angel in my arms is sobbing, and I start to kiss the side of her neck.

"I love you, Anastasia Rose. Thank you for saying yes. Thank you for having my child." It's only then that I realize I'm crying too.

"Christian Trevelyan-Grey, thank you for wanting me as your wife and the mother of your child," she replies.

Ana pulls back and grabs both sides of my face, looking me straight into my eyes.

"I will always love you, Christian. I will never leave you. I love you."

On her tiptoes, she wipes my tears before kissing both of my cheeks, my forehead, my nose, and then my mouth. I pull her as close to my body as I can, and pour every ounce of love I feel for her into our kiss. This woman is mine, just like I'm hers. We were somehow destined to find one another. The paths of both of our lives led us to meet. She's the other half of me. The mate to my soul. I will never love another woman. I will never look at another woman. I never want to touch another woman. There is no other woman. Only Anastasia. It will only ever be Anastasia.

I break the kiss and take a few steps back so I can see her. I have one more question.

"I have another question. . . An idea. If you don't think it's a good one, it will be fine. I'll understand. But I thought that it would be perfect to do here." My words are a stuttering mess.

Ana looks confused. "What do you mean? What idea?" she asks.

"I'd like to get married here. Tonight. Now." There, I've said it. She knows. She knows, and she's got the power to gut me by saying no. I really want to do this. Just like this, just us, and our baby that's inside of Ana.

Her expression is now blank.

"You want to get married right now?"

I vehemently nod. "Yes."

"How?"

"How, what?"

Ana rolls her eyes at me. "How can we get married now, Christian?"

I smile. Doesn't she realize that I can get anything done whenever I want?

"Because everything has been taken care of. If you want to, then we can."

She puckers her lips and frowns. "You have to have a marriage license, Christian. Someone to marry us. . . I don't have a wedding gown! You want me to get married in a sundress?"

Ana's words are a high-pitched exclamation, and she's wildly gesturing to the dress she's wearing, and the beauty of her engagement ring catches my eye. It's perfect. Just like her.

I take both of her hands.

"Anastasia. I've taken care of all of that. We have a marriage license and a minister to marry us. You'll find that back in the villa, there is a group of women who are here to help you get ready. Also, there are several wedding dresses, all different styles, waiting for you to choose from. If you don't like any of them, I'll buy more, and keep buying them until you find the dress of your dreams."

Her mouth drops open. I know she's questioning my sanity. She's also probably questioning her sanity if she agrees to do this.

"What about rings? I don't have a ring for you," she breathes.

Good. She's on board. I knew she would be. I fucking knew it. My face is hurting from the smile that's been plastered to my face.

"I have several types of wedding bands for both of us to choose from. You can pick out which one you like, and you can pick out the one you want for me. Anything and everything has been taken care of. We can do it this evening. Get married. I'll be your husband and you'll be my wife. We'll have really started being a family." I point to her stomach. "That little baby in there wants their mommy to have their daddy's last name."

She startles. "This isn't because I'm pregnant is it?"

What? "Anastasia, are you serious? This would be happening if you weren't pregnant. This was always going to happen. Our baby just makes it all the more special."

Her chin trembles as more tears begin to fall.

"Really?"

I nod.

"What about our families? They'll kill us both," she tells me.

I shrug. "No, they won't. They'll probably be irritated, but along with the photographer, I have a videographer. They can watch the DVD."

"Christian! We were going to tell them about the baby when we got back. Now they're all going to think we only got married because I'm pregnant."

It's my turn to roll my eyes. "No, they won't, Ana. Once we say we're expecting a baby, everyone is going to go batshit crazy and won't care if we got married without them. You know if we go home engaged, Kate and Mia will go into wedding hysterics, and drive you crazy until the wedding. You won't be able to keep yourself from killing them."

She stares at me thoughtfully. "They'd want us to get married in front of every person that we've ever met. Mia would make us have the wedding in some giant cathedral, and I imagine a horse-drawn carriage involved somehow," she says, trying not to laugh.

I, however, do laugh. "And instead of this lovely pink that's the color of your blushing cheeks, Mia would have the wedding draped in hot pink. Maybe even your wedding gown."

"And her and Kate would probably come to blows when it came down to who would be my maid of honor," Ana's given up, and falls into laughing along with me.

"Yes, undoubtedly true. So, what do you say?"

"Don't I have a lot of paperwork to sign?" she asks.

"Paperwork? We only have to sign the marriage license."

Ana's shaking her head. "No. A pre-nup. We can't get married without a pre-nup, Christian."

I'm sure my eyes are bulging out of my head. She sounds like my personal lawyer did when I changed my will before we left Seattle. I sigh.

"There isn't a pre-nup, Anastasia. Do you really think I'd ask you to sign a paper that essentially says we both know we're going to get a divorce? That's what pre-nups are. They're fucking bullshit that greedy, rich bastards make their fourth wife sign. That's not us. That's not you. You aren't signing shit. My money will be our money. Your money. End of."

She's taken aback by my passionate response. Ana should know me better than that. The woman balks when I buy her anything.

"But what if something happens between us? I don't want any of your money."

"I know that, Anastasia. Please. Let's drop it. You're really ruining the moment."

She blushes. "Are you sure?"

"Miss Steele, you know me. What do you think?" I ask, tilting my head to the side.

Shyly smiling at me, she nods.

"Good. . . So, what do you think? Would you please honor me by becoming Mrs. Christian Trevelyan-Grey this evening?"

"Yes," she replies without hesitation.

I grab her, swinging the both of us around, and making her squeal.

"Put me down! You're making me dizzy. I don't want to hurl on these pretty flowers."

I let her slide down my body, and once she's standing, I kiss her soundly. Breaking away, I push some wayward hair behind her ear.

"I think it's time to get ready for a wedding, Miss Steele."

* * *

Three long fucking hours later, I'm dressed and back at the water's edge, waiting for my Ana. The wedding band she chose for herself is a diamond eternity band. It's not the larger one that I wanted for her, but I knew it would make her uncomfortable due to the cost. She's really going to have to get used to being rich. My ring is a wide, plain platinum band. It took her a while to decide on it, but I don't give a shit if she wanted to tattoo my finger as long as she marries me.

The minister, one of Christian faith, and our two witnesses, the married owners of the resort gather with me. The minister gave me some advice on my wedding vows, but I already know what I want to say to Ana. I panic for a minute thinking no one told Ana she needed to have some vows in mind but remembered who I was marrying. She'll probably come up with something the breaks my heart on the fly.

I can't wait to see which dress Anastasia chose. It doesn't matter which style I provided, it's whether or not she chose one that's white or ivory. I really hope she preferred the ivory. I know shit about female clothing, but I do know that ivory would suit Ana's skin tone better. Fuck, what am I thinking? She could marry me in a garbage bag for all I care. I just want to be her husband.

After what seems like a lifetime, I catch sight of Ana as she appears on top of the sand dune that's littered with flowers, and lit up by Christmas lights. My breath hitches because of her pure beauty. She looks beyond what I imagined and I nearly run to her. The only reason that I don't is that my legs feel like concrete. I'm completely mesmerized by her.

As she makes her way to me, I am overwhelmed by the love I have for her. It isn't the ivory wedding gown of silk or whatever thin ass material that is. It isn't her long wavy hair, or the small bouquet of blush pink roses in her hands, that have caused my breathing to slow, it's the guileless and pure being, who's about to become my life's partner. Ana has literally taken my breath.

Once she's at my side, I deeply inhale her scent to memory. It's jasmine and vanilla. Her simple gown is a bit shorter in length than the back, I suppose it's meant to be some sort of train. It has two thin straps of fabric that cross her back and is thin enough to let me know she can't be wearing a bra. The only makeup Ana is wearing is lip gloss. She doesn't need to hide behind makeup; she's a natural beauty.

I'm sure I'm grinning like a dumb ass, and she's smiling broadly at me. I want to touch her. Ana must know something about the protocol of wedding ceremonies because she immediately hands her bouquet to the wife of the resort's owner, who is beaming at us.

Minister Nayyr wastes no time beginning. "Christian and Anastasia, will you please face one another and join hands."

I practically jump in front of her, causing Ana to laugh. We join hands, and I do my best not to break hers.

Minister Nayyr, an older man with thick white hair, greets Ana, then starts the ceremony. Good, this is my kind of guy: he doesn't waste my time.

"This evening we are here in this place of natural beauty to be joyful, in celebration of the relationship of Christian Trevelyan-Grey and Anastasia Rose Steele. By their commitment to marry each other, they are saying yes to love, yes to caring, yes to a family. May the spirit of God – which is in the blue sky, in the wind, and the fresh smells of Earth – enter your bodies, fill your hearts, and bless your lives. Have you come here in the midst of these natural surroundings to affirm your commitment to each other?

At the same time, Ana and I reply, "Yes."

"Christian, please share your vows with Ana," Minister Nayyr says.

I clear my throat of whatever it is that's choking me.

"Anastasia, I solemnly vow that I will safeguard and hold dear and deep in my heart our union and you. I promise to love you faithfully, forsaking all others, through the good times and the bad, in sickness and in health, regardless of where life takes us. I will protect you, trust you, and respect you. I will share your joys and sorrows and comfort you in times of need. I promise to cherish you and uphold your hopes and dreams and keep you safe at my side. All that is mine is now yours. I give you my hand, my heart, and my love from this moment on for as long as we both shall live." My voice is strong and sure.

Ana holds my hands tighter. Tears have welled in her eyes.

"Anastasia, please share your vows to Christian."

"Christian, I give you my solemn vow to be your faithful partner in sickness and in health, to stand by your side in good times and in bad, to share your joy as well as your sorrow," Ana begins, squaring her shoulders, and quickly wiping the tears off of her cheeks, before reclaiming my hands.

"I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you in your goals and dreams, to honor and respect you, to laugh with you and cry with you, to share my hopes and dreams with you, and bring you solace in times of need. And to cherish you for as long as we both shall live."

"What do you give to each other as a symbol of these vows?" Minister Zayyr asks.

I raise Ana's left hand and kiss it before slipping the wedding band on her delicate finger.

"I give you this ring, and I welcome you to my life as the companion to my days."

Ana has a bit of trouble sliding my band on, causing everyone to laugh.

"I give you this ring, and I welcome you to my life as the companion to my days," she whispers.

"These two people have been drawn together by their love for each other. May they practice self-discipline and patience throughout their marriage, for these are essential to everlasting love. May they continue to trust each other, for trust is the foundation on which all love is built."

"Since Christian and Ana have pledged their love and commitment to each other before these witnesses, I declare that they are husband and wife. Congratulations, you may kiss."

At this point, tears are streaming down both of our cheeks, and I pull Ana into my arms and softly kiss her lips. I place my hands on either side of her face and stare into her beautiful eyes.

"I will always love you, Mrs. Grey," I breathe.

"I will always love you, Mr. Grey." Ana softly replies.

* * *

Most of you probably recognized them, but here's my disclaimer for using them in the story. I don't want to be reported to the copyright police: The proposal, wedding vows, and description of the engagement ring were all written by EL James, the woman we've all made very rich. The rest of the crap you just read was written by me.


	19. Chapter 19

_~Chapter Nineteen~_

 _Ana_

 **2 Weeks Later**

* * *

I know many believe my surviving an extraordinarily serious head injury was a miracle, that the trauma I suffered at the hands of Jack Hyde, a man that I don't remember, should have killed me. There's no disputing the fact that in most cases, they're right. As time passes and I look around at how wonderful my life is, shame floods me. Thinking about how insignificant memory loss, especially like mine, compared to what I could have lost, leaves me full of guilt. Every night that Christian holds me in his arms, each time that I slide my hand over the little bump on my stomach that is steadily growing, I'm reminded of how lucky I am to be alive. Alive, and living a life that I never envisioned for myself, is almost too much for me to process. What did I do to deserve being Mrs. Christian Grey? I'm only beginning to understand what being a part of a multi-billionaire's life is like. I'm not so sure I'll ever get used to what being the wife of a multi-billionaire can afford me.

Six months after Jack Hyde attacked me, I'm married and pregnant. I've also just escaped being murdered, and have taken a life. Even though there's no doubt Leila Williams would have killed me, I still walk around knowing I'm the reason she no longer exists. Everyone close to me says the world is better off that she's dead and that I shouldn't have a negative emotion about killing her. That's easier said than done, especially when you re-live that bloody day in your sleep. With Dr. Rose and Christian's help, those nightmares are becoming fewer and far between. Slowly, but surely, I'm getting stronger emotionally and physically.

Every morning I make a pledge to myself that I'll have positive thoughts and treat my body kindly because I have to protect and nurture the life that's growing inside of me. There isn't any room in my life for any shame or guilt, but the guilt I carry for killing Leila Williams isn't negotiating with my pledge. I'm dragging it around like a weight strapped to my ankle. It has driven me to panic attacks that I have to hide. I'm surprised the skin on my thighs haven't been rubbed off. As in life, Leila Williams is taunting me in death.

We got back to Seattle four days ago, and miraculously, our request to be allowed to settle in and rest has been honored by everyone we love. Naturally, Christian is having to hold himself back when it comes to going to Grey House. For someone who doesn't want to be bothered by the outside world, Christian seems to be on the phone yelling at some poor employee or checking his work email constantly. I've hidden his cell phone a few times and enjoyed myself watching him frantically search for it. He denied my accusation that he loves his phone more than he loves me.

Tonight's dinner at Christian's parents ends our self-imposed imprisonment. A few days before we left Africa, Christian contacted his mother to arrange a dinner at their home. Then, he reached out to my mom so he could coordinate bringing her and Bob to Seattle. We want them to hear our good news when everyone else does. I'm driving myself crazy picturing the reactions we're going to receive when we announce that not only did we get married, but we're also expecting a child.

Christian interrupts my musings. He enters the room, dressed in black pants and a white linen shirt. He's holding a black jacket. I can barely see his left eye because his always unruly hair is too long. He smiles at me and holds out his right hand.

"You look beautiful," he tells me.

"You look in desperate need of a haircut. Why are you holding out your hand like that?"

Christian's smile grows larger. "Give me your rings. You can't walk in the house wearing them. We'll both put them on when we tell them we're married."

He has a point. I tug them off of my finger and he puts them in a small jewelry box. He shrugs into his jacket and places the box in the inside pocket. I sigh. My finger feels bereft.

"You chose the green dress?"

"The waist is looser. I don't want anyone to catch sight of my bump. Are you telling them before dinner?"

Christian bends down and gives me a quick peck on the lips, then leads me out of our bedroom.

"I'm not sure. I probably will. You can't keep a secret for shit, Mrs. Grey," he replies.

"Ye of little faith, Mr. Grey. Let's go. We don't want to keep them waiting."

* * *

Great.

There are more cars in the Grey driveway than there are at a luxury car dealership. More than our families and friends combined. What did Christian do? I look at his profile as Taylor parks the car. He looks furious, which tells me that he did nothing, so my anxiety kicks in. I'm trying my best to keep my hands off of my legs.

"Do you know why the driveway is littered with cars?"

"No. I specifically told my mother to keep this to family and close friends," he answers.

"Mia?"

"Possibly. Fuck me." Christian mechanically runs his hand through his hair and doesn't wait for Taylor to open my door. Grabbing my hand, he's nearly dragging me as his long legs hurry to the doorway.

"You seem eager to be pounced on," I say, not hiding my irritation.

Reaching the doorway, he looks down at me. "No. I'm eager to find out whose big idea brought about this clusterfuck."

"You, and your abuse of the English language, Mr. Grey."

"What fucking ever, Mrs. Grey."

I roll my eyes, and Christian smiles proudly when I burst into laughter. I'm shaking my head when the front door flies open to reveal Elliot. He's holding his hands up defensively.

"I had no idea Mia was pulling this. I'm an innocent man," he proclaims, pulling me into an embrace. "Bro, don't blow your top, man. I know it isn't your style, but try to keep a smile on your pretty face. Mia's been dancing around planning this shit for days. It's like she's been mainlining energy drinks. Fuck."

We follow him into the house. Grace's housekeeper takes our coats and I pull my wrap tighter. I'm suddenly afraid that someone is going to notice our "surprise."

There is a loud clatter of heels coming from the hallway. I look to find Mia and Kate barreling our way. Mia is a whirl of pink on two skyscraper heels, and Kate, also naturally tall, still looks like a dwarf next to her. Kate's all shimmering and silver, cocktail already in hand. Now I'm really self-conscious. I already felt like an ugly whale. These two super models make me look like a green, blubbery Smurf.

Mia reaches me first, but Kate's eyes are wide and fixed on my stomach. I widen mine in return, trying to communicate that she's being obvious.

"Oh, God! I've missed you both. Don't ever go away again. . . I mean, don't stay gone for so long again," Mia breathlessly tells us.

I'm not sure if it's Kate or Christian that pries her off of me, but I'm suddenly engulfed by Kate's expensively perfumed body.

"Shit, Steele. You spend a month on the Equator and you don't even have a tan. Did he keep you locked up the entire time?" she asks.

"No. He didn't," Christian replies, pulling me from her grasp.

"Excuse me, you two, but I'm not made of rubber. Quit pulling on me."

Christian ignores me and his body engulfs me, and he gently sways us side to side.

"Mia, is this extravaganza your doing?" he asks her, surprising me by not sounding pissed off.

"As a matter of fact, it is. I was bored with nothing to do. Don't get your panties in a twist; the guests are all friends of yours."

"And yours," Elliot mutters. "I don't understand why you ignore us when we say that we hate this shit."

"Because it's fun. Have you ever heard of having fun, Elliot? Christian? F.U.N, fun," Mia retorts, grabbing a glass of champagne off of a server's tray.

There are servers? How many people are here?

"Oh, I know how to have fun, but it isn't throwing a fucking ball when Christian and Ana only wanted a small dinner."

"Why don't you both shut up, and let's get out of the damn foyer," Kate says, attempting to shut down a sibling argument. She herds us together and we shuffle our way into the living room.

Great.

There must be fifty people flitting around Carrick and Grace's enormous living room. I catch sight of who should be here and stare at who shouldn't. I inwardly groan and look at Mia, I'm sure my displeasure is displayed in my eyes because I'm flashing it to her with neon lights.

Jose and Ethan are in the far corner with my dad. They haven't caught sight of us as we make our way further into the room. My mother and Grace are the first to notice our presence. Mom, who I haven't seen in months, makes some sort of high pitched noise as she rushes me. I have to quickly turn my body to the side so she doesn't hug me full on. She'd be greeted by her grandchild if I don't.

As both women fawn over us, we're finally noticed by the mob before us. I don't miss the way I'm being sized up by the crowd I vaguely recognize. I suppose their reaction is normal; it's not every day you encounter someone who has shot another person to death. Sighing, I turn to tell Christian that I want to scrap the plan of telling everyone we got married and are having a baby, but he's in a deep conversation with John Flynn. Why is he here? Dr. Rose would never dream about crossing the professional line to socialize with me. This night is going to be a disaster.

I take refuge to the large window seat where I'm quickly joined by my husband. He doesn't sit beside me, but squats down and looks me in the face. Concern all over his.

"Are you—"

I hold up a hand to stop him. "Don't. Just don't. I've been asked how I'm doing for the past half hour. I really don't want to hear it from you." My tone is sharper than intended, and Christian looks taken aback.

Before he can open his mouth again, his siblings, along with Kate, Jose, and Ethan, join us. I feel like the room is closing in on me. My anxiety level is rapidly rising and once I'm cocooned by everyone, I'm beginning to feel hot. I can feel the all too familiar sweat on my back. If I don't freak out and run out of this house it will be a miracle.

Mia sits down beside me and takes my hand. I feel what she wants to ask, so I raise an eyebrow at her and she doesn't say anything. Mindless chit chat hovers over and around me as minutes slowly pass. Christian is now standing up with his hands shoved in his pockets. He looks angry, and Mia has looked everywhere but at him since we arrived. I want to throttle her myself as more people arrive.

Suddenly, the temperature around me plummets. My head turns the direction of those around me, eyes searching for whatever it is they're all staring at. They land on a blonde statuesque woman I've seen before. As I watch Grace greet her, an involuntary shudder runs through me. Without reason, and confusingly, I feel the need to square my shoulders and turn my body to face the woman. For some reason, Grace is frowning.

Elliot stands to his full height, and I watch his knuckles turn white as his hold on the glass of bourbon in his hand tightens. Kate hastily makes her way to his side and whispers in his ear. Elliot's face flushes, and his eyes lock on Christian, who now sits beside me. He pulls me closer to him.

Kate glares accusingly at Mia; I know Kate's every expression- she's mad as hell. Her eyes are asking Mia an unspoken question. Mia shakes her head and rises from the window seat with easy grace, and now we're all in an even close-knit circle. Anger and hostility emanating amongst the four of them.

What is going on?

My stomach clenches the longer my eyes follow our new guest. Why am I beginning to have such an odd reaction to this woman who's draped in all black and ridiculously tanned?

"No. Don't ask if I invited her. You all know better. Mom must have," Mia says in a rushed quiet voice.

Now I remember Grace's birthday party. The mere sight of this very woman had Kate and the Grey siblings drooling contempt. Her appearance tonight has caused the same reaction. Why would Grace's friend ...

Oh, yes.

This is also the friend of Christian's mother who I spoke to when she called his cell phone after our appointment with Dr. Greene. The phone call that soured Christian's upbeat mood, and brought about a conversation that was abruptly interrupted. A conversation laden with questions that were left unanswered, and ones I forgot about.

Until now.

Yes, she is the soft voice that belongs to the flashing "Elena" on the display screen of Christian's cell phone. A friend of his, as well as his mother's. One who I didn't like, so he cut her from his life. It seems that I'm not the only person who doesn't like this woman.

Why doesn't anyone like her? What reason would I have possibly had to want her out of Christian's life? That is completely out of my character.

I watch the woman, Elena, whose phone number is programmed in my husband's cell phone, greet those closest to the room's entryway with a dazzling smile. Her bleached blonde hair is like a halo. For a woman who I suppose is around Grace's age, she's dressed quite provocatively but is undoubtedly lovely.

My heart begins to race and palms become sweaty. Is this a visceral reaction I'm having due to this Elena, and if so, what's the root of it? It must be deep. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up.

We all watch Carrick nod at her, a tight smile on his face. This Elena ... Lincoln, I believe, makes an attempt at small talk with him. Carrick all but dismisses her when his parents stroll in. Elena Lincoln's beaming smile slightly falters, but she quickly moves on to yet another person I don't know.

If I dislike Elena Lincoln so badly, why in the hell is she here? Tonight was meant to be an intimate gathering to announce our marriage and my pregnancy. I take it that Grace doesn't know how I feel about her friend. Surely, she would care about, and respect my feelings about this woman.

Grace is on the heels of her mother-in-law, but her attention is elsewhere - her eyes are squarely set on Christian - and me. Then, they slide a glance at the back of Elena Lincoln. I don't think anyone else caught Grace's expression, one I can't decipher. It's clearly not pleasant, and I'm beginning to feel anxious and out of sorts. I'm aware that whatever is going on, I'm at a disadvantage because everyone around me knows what the problem is – I have no idea.

Jose and Ethan look uncomfortably confounded and are gazing at all of us. Mia's staring at me almost ... apologetically? Elliot, along with my best friend, is looking at Christian impassively, but their eyes are unmistakably angry. Elliot's are almost feral. I peer at Christian, his jaw is clenched and he's meeting Elliot's glare with his own.

What the fuck?

Once Elena Lincoln has air kissed everyone else in the room, she makes her way towards us. Unlike Grace's birthday party, when she was met with not so quiet rude grumblings, this time, deafening silence greets her. Elliot, Mia, and Kate make what appears to be a wall between Elena Lincoln and me and Christian. We must all look ridiculous.

I'm overwhelmed by the smell of her perfume. I feel like throwing up.

"Good evening," she says, smiling. "You all look well." Her voice is as soft as it was on the phone.

"Good evening, Mrs. Lincoln. Thank you, we are all wonderful," Mia replies. Her voice is void of emotion.

Elena Lincoln laughs. "Dear, Mia. I've told you countless times to call me Elena. After all, I've known you since you were a little girl."

We don't laugh along with her, and a shiver runs down my spine. Mia tosses her hair over her shoulder. I feel it touch my arm.

"Of course." Mia's two-word reply is curt. If Elena is shocked or affected by it, she hides it well and turns her attention to me and Christian. She eyes us through the crack in our wall of Kate, Elliot, and Mia.

"Anastasia, Christian, how was your exotic getaway? I've never considered Africa as a place to travel to, but maybe I should look into it. You both look well rested."

"It was beyond my wildest dreams and a place that I'll always cherish," I reply without thinking. It just pours out of my mouth and before Christian has time to open his.

My tone is unintentionally hard, with an edge of hostility to it. It surprises me, and it seems to also surprise everyone else. I feel Christian's eyes on me, and Kate has moved out of my way, pointedly staring at me. She looks as though she's proud of me.

"That's what I hoped. You deserved to be whisked away after your terrible ordeal. I can't even imagine going through such a nightmare." Elena pauses, biting her lip as her eyes flit from me to my husband. "Oh, I'm sorry for bringing that up. I don't mean to upset you."

This woman sounds sincere, but for some reason, I know she doesn't mean a word of it. My gut knows she doesn't. I feel an adrenaline rush singing in my veins. It's as if someone is whispering in my ear, yet, I can't understand what they're saying.

"Elena, yes, it is best to not bring that up," Christian answers. I don't like the fact that he calls her by her first name.

"Of course, Christian," she begins, smiling at him. "You know I don't mean to upset Anastasia." Her smile is too familiar for my liking. I pull away from him, and he turns to look at me. I meet his gaze, hold it for a second, then I look at Elena Lincoln.

I slowly stand up, and again - words just fly out of my mouth.

"Mrs. Lincoln, you'll have to forgive me for not remembering much about you, so I don't know if you mean to upset me or not. Rest assured, that I'm well. I appreciate your concern." Each word is drawn out slowly, and unlike my overheated body, they're artic.

She bites her lip again, and I swear I hear Elliot growl. I can't wait to find out why I'm ready to slug this woman in her face.

"Yes, Anastasia. Grace has told me about your memory loss. I do hope you get it back soon."

Christian abruptly stands and takes hold of my elbow. For some reason, I want to shake it off. It isn't Christian who sets Elena Lincoln on her way.

"We are all praying for Ana to regain her full memory, Elena. Thanks for coming tonight. It's been good to see you," Mia tells her. I didn't miss how she emphasized the word "full."

Elena nods, and with another broad smile, walks away. Her perfume trailing behind her.

Jose clears his throat. "What was that?" he asks. His eyebrows are furrowed and he's frowning as he looks between me and Kate.

"That was a cockroach, Jose. One that needs to be stepped on before it hatches any eggs," Kate replies.

Ethan laughs. "A cockroach, Kate? Shit, what did she do to you? You look ready to kill her," he quietly says.

I know that Christian is looking at me. I know it, and I have no desire to turn his way. My attention is directed straight at my best friend.

"I'm with Ethan and Jose. What was that about? You have that pissed off mother hen attitude. What gives?" I ask her.

Elliot throws his drink back and wraps his arm around Kate's waist. Her shoulders drop and I watch as she forces herself to calm down. Come on, Katie. Tell me. Her green eyes seem to be darker. She doesn't bow out of our staring contest. I can see conflict written all over her face. Come on. Spit it out.

She licks her lips, and I watch as Elliot's hand squeezes her waist. Kate looks at him strangely. Once her eyes leave mine, she doesn't look back. What in the hell is wrong with her? Hell, even with Elliot and Mia. And Christian. Especially Christian.

"Ana Banana, she's just an old bitch that we don't like. Kate's mom doesn't like her. She's an ice queen that no one likes," Mia whispers, without looking at me.

I cross my arms defiantly, but keep my wrap secure. I sure as hell don't want to let anyone see my bump right now.

"I call bullshit," I simply say.

They all seem to go pale at once. Well, not Jose or Ethan. Christian's hand is on my lower back. His touch is fueling the fucked-up situation around me.

"No, she's telling the truth, Ana," Elliot says, trying to run interference between me and his sister... .and my best friend. And my husband. His own fucking self.

Slowly shaking my head, I laugh, with absolutely no humor behind it. They aren't going to tell me anything.

"That's fine. I'll shut up." I finally acknowledge Christian. "Can we leave our own party?"

"Of course –"

"Not!" Mia interjects. "Why do you want to leave? We haven't even had dinner."

Christian's chest heaves with a deep sigh. He's frustrated. "Mia, if we want to go, then we can leave. Since there are so many people here, I don't believe they would even notice if we did."

"Ana, Mia is right. We haven't even had dinner, and I haven't seen you in what feels like forever. Please stay. Please," Kate says, ignoring Christian.

It's then that I see Grace. She's standing beside her mother-in-law, who looks like she's talking her ear off, but she doesn't have Grace's attention.

Our little group does.

She smiles at me, but I don't return it. It's more than obvious that she knows I must have a very good reason not to like this woman, yet she invites her to a dinner for me and her son anyway.

I suppose I might find out something about Elena Lincoln if we do stay. It's worth trying.

"OK. I'll stay. I am hungry." I know saying those three words will hook Christian into staying.

"Do you want me to tell Mom to serve dinner now? She wouldn't mind," he replies, taking the bait.

"No. I can wait for another, what? Fifteen minutes? I would like to go to the bathroom."

"I'll go with you, Ana," Kate offers. I'd rather be alone than around my best friend at the moment.

"I can go to the bathroom by myself." I'm trying so hard not to sound like a bitch.

It's not working.

"I'll take you," my husband pipes up, irritating me further.

I raise my hand up. I'm not a child who can't wipe their own ass for God's sake.

"I'll be back in a few minutes. I'm going to use the one upstairs." I don't give anyone time enough to offer their service to get me to a bathroom. I take off towards the staircase. It's only by the grace of God that they've let me on my own.

I'm stopped a few times for inane pleasantries before I finally reach the second-floor bathroom. I lock the door behind me and take a look at myself in the mirror.

The adrenaline rush I had has left and I'm feeling shaky and weak in the legs. I'm surprised that I don't look as bad as I thought I would. I sit down to pee and kick my shoes off.

What a night. I knew we should have turned around and went home the second our eyes landed on the cars of half of Seattle in the driveway. But. . . I wouldn't have watched, or starred in the Elena Lincoln Show. If everyone, especially my husband, thinks I'm letting this go, they're crazier than they were acting like.

Well, I was acting crazy, too. Why I don't know. Pregnancy hormones? Nope. I'm probably behaving petulantly, but I'm not a child. Or stupid. Something is amiss. Feeling lightheaded, I stay on the toilet with my head in my hands. I'm too tired to even think.

I don't know what happened, but I open my eyes and I'm sitting sideways on the toilet, with my head resting on the sink vanity. How long was I asleep? Maybe I'm not over my jet lag like I thought I was.

My stomach growls, and I take that as a sign to go back downstairs. I'm surprised Christian hasn't come looking for me. I wash my hands and rub my bump.

"I guess you're hungry, huh?" I ask my baby. My stomach growls again. I got my answer.

Halfway downstairs, I can tell the party has moved to the buffet-style dinner in the kitchen. The voices, once nonstop and loud, have muffled from distance. Now I'm really surprised my husband wasn't knocking the bathroom door down – he usually picks me up and carries me to a meal.

Holding my shoes in my hand, I make my way to the hallway that leads to the kitchen, but stop in my tracks before I reach it. I hear a familiar voice from the other side of the library door.

No. I hear several familiar voices. Each one is raised and angry. I inch closer and go to grab the doorknob. I drop my hand when I hear my husband.

"Elliot, did you fucking run your mouth to them?" Christian sounds furious. His voice is shaking.

I put my ear to the door when I hear Kate.

"No, Grey. Elliot didn't tell me shit. I didn't even know that he knew. Ana told me. She told me everything."

I swallow and drag in a long breath. My heart starts hammering.

"Katherine." I can hear the warning in Elliot's voice. But she doesn't pay him any heed.

"I didn't tell Ana because I wanted her to remember on her own. As time has passed, and she hasn't, I assumed that you would be honest and tell her your fucking self. Obviously, you can't be enough of a man and tell her. And you sure aren't enough of a man to tell that blonde slut to back the fuck off," she is literally hissing at Christian.

Holy, fuck. I know what's happening, but I suddenly don't want to know what they know.

"God fucking damn!" Christian shouts, startling me on the other side of the door.

"Elliot . . ."

"What the fuck, Christian? I'm not lying. I didn't tell her. I didn't tell Mia either," Elliot replies vehemently.

Mia? Well, of course, Mia knows. Knows what, though? Say it.

"Christian, do you honestly think Ana would keep that from Kate? They're more like sisters, not best friends. Of course she told her." Mia jumps into the mix. "And did you think I watched Ana go off at two family dinners, one that she actually got up and left, and not ask what in the fuck was going on?"

"Watch your mouth, Mia," Christian replies.

"You should have watched your dick, Grey."

Oh, Kate . . .

"You have no fucking clue about any of this, Katherine, so shut the fuck up," he shouts. "Neither do you, Mia. Both of you keep your mouths shut. This shit is complicated, you don't under—"

"The only thing that's complicated, Christian, is the fact that you fucked our mother's good friend for years, and right now, she's in our house. I understand everything. This is simple as learning your ABC's," Mia says bitterly.

Oh, God. Christian was fucking Elena Lincoln . . . for years? She's what? Twice his age? That's why I reacted the way that I did. I knew. I remember Kate telling me about those dinners. Why didn't she tell me everything? Why hasn't Christian told me about this?

What a dumb fucking question. More secrets.

"Who told you, Mia?" he asks in a more subdued tone.

"Ana."

"Ana?" Christian asks, in what sounds like disbelief.

Me. I told Kate. I told Mia.

Neither of them has told me.

"Yes, Ana. I went to see her the day after she stormed out of the house. I was concerned about her, but I also knew it was about Elena, and I wanted the truth. I asked her outright, and after she denied it a few times, I finally got the truth out of her."

That means Christian didn't know that I had told Kate, and later, Mia. I never told him. I remember when I was in the hospital and he came clean about the BDSM, that he believed I didn't tell her because of the NDA. What did he say?

" _You said it was in the past and not her business."_

I guess I changed my mind and didn't tell him. I'm shocked at how composed I am. Or maybe I'm just in shock.

"No, Mia . . . you didn't get the full truth from Ana," Kate loudly says. Much too loudly.

"What do you mean by that?" Mia asks.

Yes, what do you mean by that, Kate?

I hear a loud crash, jump, and look around to make sure no one else is hearing this. God, they're going to draw attention to this shit.

"Kate! Stop." That was Elliot. Another warning. Another warning Kate doesn't heed.

"I mean that Ana didn't tell you the whole truth. I'm not going to either because it's not my truth to tell, that's on your brother." Kate pauses. "Well, now I see it's on both of your brothers."

"Christian, Elliot, what don't I know? Tell me, I deserve to know. The last time I checked I was a part of this family. A family full of secrets."

"Mia, it's nothing that can make the situation any worse. Or better, for that fact. Just drop it," Elliot answers.

"No, I'm not just going to drop anything, Elliot. What, is it how old Christian was when it started? Ana wouldn't tell me that. Christian, how old were you? She said it was years . . . she confirmed what I had suspected for a long time. But she wouldn't say when it began, or for how long. Christian?"

Deafening silence.

Finally, Elliot speaks up. "Bro, just fucking tell her the god damn truth."

"No."

"Elliot, if our brother isn't going to tell me, then you tell me. You've been keeping this secret, and helping him and Elena make our mother look like a fool for years.

Tell me. Kate? Do you know?"

Kate doesn't reply.

"Mia." Christian almost sounds like he's pleading for her to shut up.

I suppose he is. I'm not sure I want him to tell the truth. I'm already feeling faint.

"Don't 'Mia' me. Tell me? It's how old you were, isn't it? I've thought something strange was going on between the two of you for a long time, Christian. You told her things that you never told Mom. She gave you the loan to start GEH... Mia's words trail away. She sounds lost in her thoughts.

"You were twenty-one. You were fucking her seven years ago, and it went on for years? When did you stop fucking Elena?" she presses him.

"It was over by then," Christian says, but it's like those words hang in the air behind the door. They all stay silent as his words evolve into meaning.

It was over by the time he was twenty-one. It had gone on for years? Jesus Christ. How old was he?

"What?" Mia asks. "Wait. I was a teenager getting a weird vibe from you and that whore. Holy, fuck, Christian. How old were you?" She's crying.

"Put her out of her misery, Christian. Put us all out of our misery. This has got to end, man, and face it, it looks like it's going to end right now." Elliot sounds like he's near tears as well.

"No, Lel. No," Christian replies. His voice is soft and low.

I'm holding my breath.

"Yes! Do it, or I fucking will. I'm sick of carrying this around. Kate already knows. Ana knows," Elliot counters.

The tight tension in that room is seeping out of the door. I can almost taste it.

"No, Ana doesn't know. . ." Christian begins.

"Grey, were you not paying attention to her reaction to Elena? I thought she was going to remember right then and there. She's going to remember. You need to tell her before she does," Kate finally says. Her words are no longer angry or hostile.

"She's right," Mia tells her brother. "But please answer me, Christian. How old were you? I'm not leaving this open-ended. Answer me."

"Fifteen. I was mother fucking fifteen, Mia. Are you happy now?" he yells at his sister, who gasps.

Kate doesn't react. She already knew.

What the fuck? He was a kid. She molested him. Oh, God. My knees buckle, and I fall against the wall. I'm going to kill that bitch. Why didn't I kill her before?

"You were fifteen!" Mia isn't asking a question. "She's a damn pedophile. Elliot, you knew this and said nothing? What the fuck is wrong with the two of you? Jesus Christ, Christian. Was she your first time?" she demands to know.

"Yes." One word.

Yes.

Yes.

But he couldn't be touched – he told me.

I tune out the words from behind the door. They're all static now. My mind has once again flown back to that hospital room.

" _You claim BDSM sex was the only kind of sex you'd had. So how did you have sex as a teenager?"_

No. For fuck's sake, no.

" _Someone that I knew introduced me to BDSM and I realized I could have sex if the woman was bound and couldn't touch me."_

Someone that he knew. Someone he knew.

I remember thinking he was lying and hiding something. I remember not insisting he tell me. I remember giving him a free pass.

It was Elena Lincoln. Christian was fifteen. It continued for years.

Not only was Grace's friend fucking her son, she was beating the shit out of him. Elliot knew. How much does he know? Does he know that those women in Christian's life were submissives? Does he know how he lived his life before me?

Elena Lincoln. Christian. Fifteen. BDSM.

My God, how long did this go on for?

He told Mia it was over when he was twenty-one.

"Six years, Mia. Six fucking years." Elliot's shout shakes me out of my head.

I feel like I'm in a vortex. My hand covers my mouth as I gag. No wonder I hate her and demanded that he cut her from his life. I had to rid her of his life? Was she a part of his life while we were together? For how long? Why did I have to force him to end his business relationship with her? Why didn't he do it? Why in the fuck was he still associating with her?

He was in business with this woman? A woman who started fucking and beating him when he was fifteen? Christian was friends with her. She's in his phone by her first name. "Elena" was flashing on the display screen. He told me that she was his friend.

Why? Why, why, why, Christian?

Before I think about what I'm doing, I open the door, so forcefully that it slams against the wall. All four jump, their head's swing towards me; their faces pale.

Kate drops her head into her hands. Mia looks at me in silent shock. Elliot's mouth is moving, although, I can't hear what he's saying, or who he's saying it to.

Christian. My husband. The father of my baby stands there looking helpless and damned.

I drop my shoes before I square my shoulders and make my way to him. His eyes are wide. Fearful. Yes, they should be.

"Ana—" he starts, but I cut him off.

"I heard everything you all said," I tell them, my eyes moving to each of them.

Kate and Mia are now crying. Elliot takes a step towards me. Christian is frozen. I don't take my eyes off of him.

"Don't come near me, Elliot. Just don't," I warn him.

"Ana, please," Kate says.

I keep my eyes on my husband. "Shut up, Katherine. I'll deal with you later."

"Anastasia," Christian says.

"You shut up, too." My face feels like it's on fire, and I know tears are running down my cheeks.

"I want the three of you to leave. I need to speak with Christian," I demand harshly.

"Ana—"

"Stop with the 'Ana", Kate! Shut the fuck up, and get out of this room. Take Elliot and Mia with you," I hiss at my best friend through gritted teeth.

I look from Christian to my best friend. Her cheeks lose their color.

"Let's go, Katie. Mia." Elliot takes Kate by the hand and gently pushes Mia out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

I study Christian's face and wipe a tear from my cheek. He stands there like he's paralyzed. His face is blank; his eyes are betraying him – he's terrified.

"You are still keeping secrets. Lying."

"Ana, I didn't lie about this."

I hold up my hand. "Lying by omission is still lying!" I scream. "You're a fucking liar! That's all you're good at – keeping shit from me. Lying to me."

He stares at me speechless. Arms hanging by his side. I'm so over this. Him. It's like being on a hamster wheel. I find out something, I let it slide. Time passes, I find out something else and I let it slide. On, and on, and on.

"I'm getting the hell away from here. Away from that pedophile who's eating your parents' food," I whisper.

Christian nods. "All right, we can leave. I'll text Taylor."

I scoff. "You're insane. I'm not going anywhere with you. I don't want to be anywhere near you. You can text Taylor to get me out of here, but I'm not going anywhere with you."

He runs a fucking hand through his hair. "We need to talk, Ana."

"Fuck talking. Fuck your lies." Turning away from him, I bend down to pick my shoes up. I stand and stalk towards the closed door. Opening it, I look back at Christian, disgusted and weary.

"Oh, and, Christian."

"Yes." His words are strained and full of pain.

"Fuck you."

I walk out into the hallway. Sighing, I turn to leave and find myself face to face with Grace


	20. Chapter 20

_Chapter Twenty_

 _Ana_

* * *

I'm powerless to speak or move. I can't blink. I can't breathe. In all of her sandy blonde and hazel eyed beauty, Grace is standing still as a stone outside of the library. Anger, an anger that terrifies me, is all over her face. She isn't staring at me. She's staring through me.

My, God. How long has she been standing here? How much did she hear?

Shaking my head, I catch a glimpse of Christian, who is behind me. Now I realize who Grace's eyes are resting on - her middle child. He's as pale as his mother – maybe more so. Our eyes meet, unshed tears in mine, as I offer him a small smile. I hope it's a smile and not a grimace because I have lost control of my body – it's on cruise control.

My husband is looking at his mother, and it's as if he's standing in front of a firing squad. I'm sure that's how he must feel. I don't know what to do, so I do nothing. As hurt and angry as I am, I don't want to leave him. I don't want him to face this alone.

"Ana, I need to speak with my son privately." Her voice is eerily low. "I sent my children and Kate to go . . . well, I don't know where I told them to go. Perhaps you'll find them in the living room."

I'm being dismissed, and I understand why. She sent the others away. Grace obviously heard more than I fear. Where was she? I thought I was the only one within earshot. This is bad. This is really bad.

"Of course," I stutter. Before I force my legs to work, I turn to Christian. I must let him know that I won't leave. I won't leave him. I exhale deeply.

"I'll be in the living room," I tell him. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to leave you."

The corners of his lips slightly turn up and he nods at me.

My heart is working in overdrive. This doesn't feel right. Leaving Christian doesn't feel right.

"Everything will be fine, dear. I promise. I just need to talk with my son," she quietly says.

I nod but realize something. Turning back and looking at my husband, whose eyes are full of unshed tears, I know I can't leave him. I don't want to leave him. Give him solace. Solace, Ana. Turning, I stumble my way to him and pull his head down to mine. I kiss his neck, cheeks, his hair. His tears are hot as they run down my neck and intertwine with mine.

"I love you," I whisper. "Forgive me for what I said. I'll never leave you. Ever." Please say that you forgive me."

Christian takes me in his arms, holding me tightly, and murmuring words I don't make out.

I look back at Grace, who is also crying – shoulders shaking.

"I can't leave him. I won't. He needs me, Grace. He's broken," I tell her.

I'm holding onto Christian's waist as tightly as I've ever held anything. He relaxes at my words and faces his mother again.

Grace says nothing. She walks straight into the library and holds the door as I follow Christian in. She slumps into a winged back chair and we take the small sofa across from her. I take hold of Christian's hand. I'm not sure he's breathing. I'm not sure if I'm breathing.

"Ana, I need to tell you that I didn't bring Elena Lincoln back around the family to hurt you or make you think that I don't care about your feelings. Please accept my apology," Grace softly says. She's looking everywhere but at us.

Clearing my throat, I scramble for words. I don't know what to say. What she's said has thrown me.

"I'm not sure why you're apologizing to me. You've done nothing wrong."

You didn't know Elena Lincoln was fucking your teenage son. You had no idea she was entrenching him into BDSM at fifteen.

She shakes her head. "Yes, I have. Ana, I had to. I knew it would upset you. Upset everyone in the family, for that matter, but It was necessary. I knew there was something. . . off. . . whenever you were in Elena's presence. The night of that disastrous dinner solidified the nagging feeling I had about the two of you."

Grace turns her body to face Christian and me head on. I'm nearing a panic attack. I don't know what to say because I don't know what happened that night.

The infamous night that I stormed out of this house.

"I considered every reason that made you react so out of character when Elena was around. I recalled a time early on in your relationship when Elena made a comment about your youth, and Christian's wealth. I thought they were uncalled for considering she didn't know you…but now I believe that she did know you. I knew she was insinuating you were after his money, but Elena's always been a gossip who makes snide comments about people. I'm ashamed to say that I associated with her and called her a friend. I knew that we didn't have anything in common."

"Grace, I don't think you should feel that way."

"Yes, Ana, I should. Carrick has always said she'd befriended me, burrowed her way into our family because she's a social climber, and that she wanted to be known as a close friend of the Grey family. I don't mean that to sound pretentious, it's just the truth." She stops and wipes the tears from her cheeks away. "When she and Linc moved in next door, I naturally went to introduce myself and welcome them to the neighborhood. Soon, she was a regular fixture around here. I saw it as Elena being lonely since Linc worked so much and was hardly at home."

"Really, Grace, there's nothing to apologize for," I mutter. "You've done nothing to hurt me."

Who should be apologizing to me is my husband. He's the one who has been dishonest.

She opens and closes her eyes while wagging an index finger at me. Her expression bland and cheeks pink. Christian has fallen back into the sofa's pillows. My hand is still squeezing his.

"No, Ana. There is. I'm guessing you don't remember anything that I'm referring to. Let me say that while I was looking underneath every rock for that root of hostility you had for Elena, it occurred to me that the only thing the two of you remotely had in common was Christian."

Grace finally looks at Christian, who's staring into space. Seconds of silence pass before she continues. They feel like years.

"She always knew things about Christian that I didn't. In fact, looking back, Elena seemed to go out of her way to fill me in on my son's personal life. She tended to appear like she was gloating whenever she would tell me about Christian's life. Little details that I wasn't privy to."

Christian still hasn't uttered a word while he stares ahead unblinking. I'm unclear as to where Grace is headed, but I know what I overheard. I know that Elena Lincoln molested my husband when he was only fifteen. I know it lasted until he was twenty-one. I nearly gag when I think that was only seven years ago. That old slut, attractive on the outside, but undeniably amoral on the inside, bound and beat Christian when he was still a boy. A young and troubled boy. Tears begin to flow faster than I can dash them away and I bring his hand to my lips and kiss his each of his knuckles.

He told me that I saved him. He told me that he'd hurt and suffered his entire life, but I thought it was because of his life before he became a Grey. I'd no idea what he really meant. He'd said he'd suffered, yet, earlier, Christian almost sounded like he was downplaying what Kate and his siblings were saying to him. It sounded like an intervention. It sounded like an intervention that he wanted no part of. I think about our conversation the day we got married.

 _She fucked me up. She made me believe that I had to—"_

He was referring to Elena Lincoln.

Holy, fuck. He doesn't think their fucked past is wrong. If he did, she wouldn't have remained a part of his life until right before I got hurt. He said they were friends. Business partners. Her fucking phone number is still programmed into his phone. Christian said he ended his relationship with Elena Lincoln because I told him too. Why naturally I would. Who the hell would tolerate that sick shit being around them? But. . . we became involved in May. He didn't end his friendship or business relationship with her until September. Why not?

Did I know about them from the beginning of my relationship with Christian? Wait, yes, I did. I told Kate and Mia. How much did I tell them, though? No one threw out the lovely term BDSM, but Kate told Mia that I hadn't told her everything. I told Kate everything, and Kate being the loyal best friend that she is, didn't even breathe a word of it to Elliot. Obviously, I left out the juicy tidbit of information when I told Mia why I reacted the way I did at that dinner. God, I wish I could remember what happened that night.

" _Ana told me. She told me everything."_ Kate had said. I must have

My thoughts shut out Grace's words. It's only now that I tune her back in.

"I knew that Carrick and Elliot didn't approve of your business relationship with Elena, Christian. Your father said she used us to get to you. I didn't want to believe that. . .I believe it now, though. God, how did I miss this?"

Grace stands and makes her way to us, sitting down on the sofa beside a motionless Christian. She takes his hand.

"Fifteen, Christian. You were just a child. A child that my friend manipulated and seems to have controlled for the past thirteen years. I heard you. What you were saying. . . I heard you defending her. Don't you realize she abused you?

Christian sits up, places his forearms on his thighs, and looks at the floor.

"Elena didn't abuse me, Mom. I was out of control and angry at the world. She helped me learn how to deal with my problems. How to cope and stay cool and collected," he answers.

Unbelievable. He is defending Elena.

"Christian, you can't tell me that you know what she did to you was wrong? She was an adult, you were only fifteen. Elena was married, for God's sake! Didn't we teach you right from wrong, son?" Grace wails.

My husband faces her and cups her face in his hands.

"Mom, at the time it seemed right. Elena made sure I did well in school and quit drinking and getting into fights. That made you and dad happy. Knowing you were no longer worrying about me made me happy."

Jesus. Does he honestly believe that bullshit? He thinks that pedophile helped him.

Grace pulls away from his grasp, but not unkindly. We both gasped at his words. She must be thinking about this the same way I am.

"She molested you, and I heard that it continued until you were twenty-one. Is this why you helped her start her business? Guilt? A sense of duty? What?"

"No. I helped her because I owed it to her. She gave me the money to start GEH," Christian whispers.

I nearly fall off of the sofa. She gave him the money to start GEH. He gave her money to open up a chain of damn beauty shops. Christian kept her as a friend for years. Elena Lincoln has had her claws in him since he was a young kid. And I thought he was a brilliant man.

"Ana," Grace addresses me. "Do you know anything about this?"

I'm still too stunned to speak. Christian shakes his head at his mother. He looks ashamed.

"No, she doesn't."

"Did Ana ever know? Before she lost her memory, that is. Had you confided in her, and that's why she reacted so badly that night?"

"Yes, Mom. I had told Ana everything, and she despised Elena for it. When she saw her here that night, she lost it. We didn't speak for several days afterward."

"Ana, do you remember that night?"

I'm sure I look like a deer in headlights. I swallow and shake my head no.

"No one has told me. Kate briefly mentioned two occasions that I behaved less than ladylike here, but she never expounded on them, and I never pressed her for information. At the time, I didn't think to delve. I had more important issues to worry about. Now. . . I think Kate might have been trying to spark some kind of memory about Elena Lincoln."

"Yes, I heard what Kate said. She was protecting you from finding it out on your own when Christian could have told you. Why didn't you tell her?" she asks her son.

Christian looks at me, I think his expression is one of regret. But right now, I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything anymore.

"I didn't want to hurt you," he says to me, not his mother.

Grace scoffs on the other side of Christian and stands.

"I want to talk to your brother and sister about this. I'm going to go find them," she tells us.

Looking at her, her eyes are bloodshot and mascara is running down her cheeks.

"No, no, Grace. Stay. I'll go find them. You stay here," I tell her.

Christian grabs my wrist when I stand up.

"You're coming back, aren't you? Please come back."

He looks like a scared little boy. I caress his cheek.

"Of course. Let me go get them."

I scurry out of the room like a rat on a sinking ship, and quietly shut the door behind me. I make my way to the living room, only to find the Mia and Kate comforting one another, and Elliot staring out of the window. They all look at me when I walk into the room.

"Is he all right?" Elliot asks, running a hand through his curly hair.

I ignore that stupid question. Of course, he isn't.

"Grace wants to speak with you. . . in the library."

"Shit," he mutters. "Just me?"

"No. She wants Mia to come as well. Kate, you should probably come. Grace can tell you to leave if she doesn't want you around." I scowl at my friend, the secret keeper.

We make our way back to the library, quiet and dread rolling off of us. Mia's constant sniffling is driving me crazy. Opening the door, the scene before me shocks me to the core. My husband's head is in his mother's lap. Grace is rubbing his head and whispering to him, as he weeps his heart out. It cuts me in half. I rush to him.

"Oh, Christian, please don't. Everything will be fine. Hush," I say, kneeling down and kissing his head.

He raises his head and looks so forlorn. Doubt is shining in his eyes. He sits up, and motions for me to sit in his lap.

Elliot and Mia cautiously walk into the room. Kate is slowly moving behind them. She shuts the door behind her.

Grace must not care if Kate's here because she says nothing. However, she does motion for them to sit. Where she looked hurt when she was talking to my husband, she looks mad as hell staring at her other two children.

"Elliot, how long have you known about your brother and Elena?" she asks, glaring at him.

"Mom, please," Christian pleads. "Don't drag Elliot into this, please. Don't be pissed at him," Christian tells her.

Elliot sits, inhaling, and then exhaling loudly, he ignores his brother and is facing Grace's glare. Kate and Mia are sitting in the same recliner – holding hands.

"Since I was eighteen," Elliot admits.

The glare on Grace's face disappears as her eyes begin to shine with tears. She places her head in her hands. Christian is rubbing her back. A moment or two slips by, and she sits up ramrod straight.

"Did it occur to you that he was considered a minor in the state of Washington? That she was molesting him? What was the reason, Elliot? Did you think it was cool that a beautiful older woman was fucking your brother?"

Jesus. I've never heard Grace swear before. Never. Ever.

"No, Mom, I didn't. I tried to get him to stop it because they were making you look like a fool since you were friends. I wanted to choke her every time that I saw her. I never thought it was right."

Elliot looks so pained, and his eyes are watering. Kate makes her way to him and sits on his lap. I catch her staring at me and I turn my head. The two of us will be having a discussion later.

"Why didn't you come to me or your father, Elliot? We could have put that woman away. She's a pedophile. There's no telling how many boys she did this to. Unfortunately, now it's too late to do anything."

Elliot looks at Christian. Neither say anything, but I know what's happening. Elliot is asking his brother's permission to be completely honest. Well, I'm sure there isn't going to be mention of the BDSM.

"Because Christian asked me not to. At first, I bought into his claims of her keeping him out of trouble. I now know I was stupid, but I was a kid myself, and I didn't know she was hurting him—"

Elliot stops, his eyes widen as Christian jumps off of the sofa and stands in front of his mother. His voice is hoarse.

"No, Elliot. Don't you dare!"

Christian's booming voice vibrates off of the walls. Elliot pushes Kate off his lap and stands up, facing his brother.

"I'm sorry. It just slipped out. I swear, it just slipped," he tells him.

Mia looks confused. Her eyes are moving to her brothers and then her mother, who has paled considerably. I can sense her panic. At this point, we're all standing.

"What do you mean Elena was hurting Christian?"

Her question is directed at my brother-in-law, whose hands are fisted. This is going to get ugly. Ugly. Oh, so very ugly.

Kate's come to my side, tears running down her face, and starts to rub my shoulder. The one that Leila Williams didn't stab.

"El, what are you talking about? How did that old slut hurt my brother?" Mia demands. Her face is flushed and she's breathing heavily.

Elliot remains quiet, locked in a stare down with Christian, whose body is shaking. He's pale and looks like he's about to burst into tears. I push Kate away from me and wrap my arms around him. Elliot knows.

Elliot knows about the BDSM that Elena introduced his brother to. I wonder if he's known all of these years. I can't help but feel compassion for him. How did he carry such a burden around? It could only have been done because he loves Christian so deeply.

" _Put her out of her misery, Christian. Put us all out of our misery. This has got to end, man, and face it, it looks like it's going to end right now."_

Elliot said this not so very long ago, and although I don't know anything definite, I agree with him. Christian is going to have to fess up. To put an end to the misery.

I bring Christian's head to my mouth and I whisper in his ear.

"I don't know everything yet, but I know enough to tell you to be honest. Tell the truth," I tell him.

He steps back, enough to face his mother and tells her to sit back down. She does, with the rest of us following.

"Did you overhear everything?" he asks Grace.

"Yes."

We all exhale deeply. We know what that means. She doesn't understand why Elliot or Mia haven't told her. She knows that Kate knows more than Mia and that I don't remember what the hell they all know. I'm as clueless as Grace.

Christian takes a shuddering breath and takes both of Grace's hands. I feel like I'm watching a soap opera. Or an execution.

"Tell me how this began, Christian?" Grace asks softly, wiping her tears with the handkerchief Christian gave her.

My anxiety level is so high that it's near the sun, and I want to dig my fingernails into my thighs. Then tension. . . is a heavy woolen blanket around us all.

Christian's shoulders move as he draws in a deep breath and blows it out.

"Excuse me, Christian, Grace," Kate says quietly. "Would you prefer if I leave? I-I mean, I'm not family, and I know this is—"

Both my husband and mother-in-law shake their heads.

"No, my dear. You're Elliot's fiancé. You're a part of this family, too," Grace interjects.

"I don't want to intrude," Kate replies.

"You already know, Katherine. Stay." Christian sounds furious, and in more ways than I can count, I suppose he should be furious with me for telling her.

She doesn't say another word and looks contrite. Very unlike Kate.

"Mom, please don't hate me when I'm finished telling you this. Please. I never wanted to hurt you. That's been my fear since I was fifteen."

"You're my son, Christian. I could never hate you. I love you."

* * *

He drops his head and begins telling us his story. Not a bedtime story that would bring a person sweet dreams, but a story that you could tell around a campfire to scare the hell out of people.

We are all exhausted after hearing how Elena Lincoln pounced on a very troubled adolescent and introduced him into BDSM. Our tears have dried up and we're silent. The only thing to be heard is the grandfather clock in the far corner of the room. My mind is now an empty space. I can't say a word; I can't stop thinking. I'm shocked and disgusted; I'm disgusted with this woman. I'm shocked that Grace and Carrick never picked up on anything between Christian and Elena Lincoln. Christian described how surprisingly unmindful his parents were while he was a teenager. He didn't come out and say it because I'm sure he refused to upset Grace, but all it took was a few excellent report cards for her and Carrick to become lax in the way they parented him. No wonder Christian was able to spend most of his time two houses down with Elena Lincoln.

I can't think this way. I'm sitting here blaming Carrick and Grace for what happened to Christian, and before me is a devastated Grace. I'm a horrible person.

The chiming of the grandfather clock declaring it's ten o'clock pulls me out of my judgmental thoughts. And with that chiming that broke the savage silence we are sitting in, Mia Trevelyan-Grey jumps to her feet shrieking, startling everyone.

"Where is that bitch?" she seethes. "I'm going to kill her with my bare hands."

Before anyone of us can catch her, Mia has sprinted out of the library and is running towards the dining room. We're all calling for her to stop, but it's a lost cause; Mia seems to be out of her mind.

The closer we get to the dining room, the louder the voices of the party guests become. My, God, surely, she isn't going to barge in there and berate Elena? She can't let the world know her brother fucked the bitch. I have Grace by the elbow, helping her down the hall because she's shaking and once again, weeping. Mia, Elliot, Christian, and Kate look like they're running a race, with Mia in the lead. As we sat in silence, now we run in silence. We can't very well allow Seattle's elite hear our posse yelling at each other over Elena Lincoln molesting Seattle's boy billionaire.

Please, please, please, let Elena have already left. Please, God.

God didn't listen to my desperate prayer. Or begging, if you will. There she sits, among people who don't fuck fifteen-year-old boys. Well, at least I hope they don't.

Elena Lincoln, the old, but still attractive woman, that molested my husband, and who had a six-year sexual relationship with him, is sitting at one of the tables closest to the buffet. Unfortunately, it's the table across the room, meaning Mia is having to scramble through the tables and a throng of people. She isn't doing it quietly.

"You piece of trash! You are a bottom feeder and I want you out of my parent's home, right now," Mia yells. The room falls silent, and Carrick stands. He looks at us like we're crazy.

"What's going on. Mia, what in the world is wrong?" he asks.

Everyone is staring at all of us. The people who are sitting at the table with Elena scoot their chairs back, as we trail behind Mia, desperate to shut her mouth before she sticks her family in it.

She's hovering over Elena within seconds, her finger in Elena's face, while she shakes with fury. It's frightening.

Elena blinks rapidly, looking confused and unsure. Her eyes are darting around the room until Grace pulls herself from my hand, and stands in her way.

Oh, shit.

Mia's rage is palpable. "We know, you, sick bitch. We know everything. So I highly suggest you get your old ass out of that chair and crawl back into the hole you came out of, she hisses, quite loudly.

Elena jumps, startled, and her eyebrows shoot up her forehead. Her confused expression is almost amusing.

Almost.

"Mia, let's go. Stop this," Christian orders his sister. He grabs her upper arm and does his best to pull her back, but she's resisting – and doing a good job of it.

"Let me go, Christian," she whispers. "Elena, get the fuck up and leave. Now."

On Elena's face, confusion has evaporated. Her expression hardens when she looks at Mia, and then at Christian. I bristle. I swear I watch her blue eyes cloud over as they bore a hole into him. He completely ignores her.

Carrick is standing beside us now, looking at each of us in turn. He frowns when he takes in his wife's appearance. Her makeup is ruined; mascara smudged all over her cheeks.

The tension in the room is oppressive. It's so quiet that the only thing that I hear is Mia's heavy breathing. She's basically panting.

"Mia, come with me. You're upset. Come. You can tell me all about it," he says ever so softly.

A man and woman at the table discretely excuse themselves and Mia stretches across the empty chairs and is staring Elena down. Elena has reverted to looking confused and hasn't said a word.

"Unless you want me to tell everyone around us what you. . . did to someone that I... .know, I would pick up that Chanel bag of yours and get the hell out of my parent's home," continues Mia, who seems to become angrier by the second.

Elena's expression hardens, and still looking at my husband, she purses her lips.

"Mia, dear, I-I don't know what you mean. I haven't—" she begins to say, but Mia interrupts her. Loudly. She slams her hands on the table.

"Yes, you have! And yes, you do know what I mean. Now get your ass out of my sight. Your secret is out. It's out!" she yells.

By now, everyone at the table has abandoned it, and the room is beginning to quietly buzz, with what I suppose is speculation. This is a disaster.

"Grace, what is going on here?" Elena asks, finally looking at my mother-in-law.

I really wish she wouldn't have asked Grace that question.

Grace, moving with the ease of a black panther, looms over Elena Lincoln, chest heaving.

"I know what you did to my son, you slut," she says so softly that only we can hear her.

Elena seems unable to locate a word that could salvage her from being publicly outed. But, then, she looks at me, and I see the disdain in her eyes. They remind me of two icicles. Grace's words cause her to look away from me.

"Get out of my home, or I will kill you. Do you understand? If I ever lay eyes on you again, I will kill you," Grace exclaims loudly, causing me to jump.

Carrick pulls his wife to his chest. I hear her sobbing.

"Christian, can you explain—" Elena begins.

"No, you whore, he won't explain anything to you, because you already know what's going on. Get off your ass and get the fuck out, or I will kill you." Mia shouts, grabbing for Elena's arm, and pulling her up.

"Elliot, get your sister out of here, for God's sake," Carrick mutters, confused and angry.

Elliot doesn't listen. Mia doesn't listen. But the entire room is listening. In fact, they just heard Mia and Grace Grey threaten to kill Elena Lincoln.

Finally, Elena stands, grabbing her clutch and lifting her chin defiantly. She's got her disgusting eyes locked on Christian's face again. My head begins to ache. A dull ache on the left side of my head.

"Just get out, Elena. Leave," he tells her in a low grumble.

However, Mrs. Lincoln doesn't leave. What she does do, is turn her body towards me, running her eyes up and down my body – like she's checking me out. I involuntarily shudder under her gaze. The woman licks her lips – all blood red lipstick – and taps a finely manicured finger on her chin.

Her eyes meet mine. For some reason, she's trying to intimidate me. Trouble for her is that I'm not easily intimidated.

She suddenly looks at Christian, smirking.

"I think Anastasia's dress would look better with a belt, Christian. What do you say?" she asks, her voice as dark as her clothes.

Christian looks like he's swallowed a frog. His expression, that once was angry, is now one of alarm. Anxiety begins to crawl up my spine. Her words don't make sense.

"Shut up, Elena, "Christian replies. His jaws are clenched so hard that I can't believe he can speak. "Respect my mother's request and leave our home." Each word venomous.

She looks at me like I'm a piece of rotten meat. Her pupils contract and I want nothing more than to slap her face.

"Dear, I recommend that you wear a belt with your dress. I'm sure Christian has one that's suitable for you, and I've always told him you do look better when he uses—"

"Elena," Christian breaks in with a snarl. He's scowling at her, and she's smiling at me. In a kind of wicked step-mother sort of way.

"What's the matter, Christian? You do want Ana to remember everything, don't you? I'm just trying to help. Bring her to the Esclava at Bravern Center. I remember you brought her there, and it was quite the experience for her."

And then. . .

And then that's when the dull ache in my head turns into a shrieking pain. I don't know if it's the words, or the person saying them, but it's now a noise, akin to static on an AM radio station. Suddenly, my heart is pounding, sweat threatens my forehead, and I feel bile from disgust rising up my throat.

The words. Those words. Her words. They may have fallen off of lips, but they've opened up a portal that leads straight to my mind. I gasp, because I clearly see everything. I hear everything. My stomach knots.

" _I know who you are and what you did to Christian, and you should be in prison, not freely walking around children."_

I was wearing a white eyelet dress. It was strapless, and I don't remember ever having one, and it makes me fade into my pristine white surroundings. My shoulders were shaking with anger as I pointed a finger at Elena Lincoln's face. She was standing there, dressed in all black, her attractive face sneering at me, and giving Christian a deadly glare. He was giving me an equally deadly glare.

That wasn't my Christian. That was Dominant Christian. Shit. I was his submissive. I don't have to question if I'm remembering something that happened. . . I know it happened. This is the day my idiot husband took me to Esclava and I thought I heard Elena tell him to punish me. My, God. I remember.

" _This one needs a firm hand, Christian. Show her who you really are. If you don't break her down, then you can't build her back into what you want of her."_

The more my mind's eye can see, the stronger the pain in my head becomes. The noise, whether it's the buzzing in my ears, or from those around me, is steadily rising and heightening my anxiety. It doesn't matter though. The only thing that matters is what I'm remembering.

"… _I'd use a belt. Your first punishment was a cane, wasn't it? And see how well I taught you?"_

This fucking bitch. A god damned pedophile.

I rush, and slap Elena, hard across the face. Her head snaps to the right. The sound resonates off the walls. She clutches her cheek in astonishment and wobbles on her high heels. But I'm not finished with this woman.

Grabbing hold of her arm, I jerk her towards me, my fingernails catch the fabric of her gown. The room is as quiet as a graveyard. I don't care. I've just remembered I cared too much of other opinions before, and it got me nowhere.

Not now. Not again. Never again.

Pulling skin and fabric, I lick my dry lips and squeeze the flesh into my grasp tighter. All eyes are on me. I tear fabric tearing. I don't bother to lean in and say anything quietly. I want them all to hear me when I give her my promise. My vow. What I should have done long ago, but didn't. Why was I so weak?

" _I'm taking this slow, Elena. Back off."_

My, God. I hear him. He said that about me. Over the pounding and sharp pain, I smile. A demented and furious grin that must look ghastly. There aren't any shuddering breaths. No trembling hands. Fear and trepidation are nowhere to be found. It's all hatred. I have remembered everything, and all I feel is black hatred.

"Ana," someone behind me pleads. I don't know who. I don't care to know. I shrug them off.

As loudly as church bells ringing on Sunday morning, my voice is strong, my words are full of conviction.

"No, don't 'Ana' me," I say. "I have something I'd like to say. You see, I remember."

I look to my right. Elliot is holding his sister by the arm. Mia is trying to twist her way out of his grip. Their mother is gone, her husband with her.

But each party guest is looking on, gaping.

"What do you remember, Anastasia?" Christian asks in a rush. His voice has broken through the static, and our eyes meet – he's panicking. I feel his warm breath on my ear. He realizes what I've seen. I could let him off of the hook, but I feel like he deserves to squirm on the end of one for a while.

He hit me because she encouraged him to. No, I asked him to show me what a real punishment was like. He was only too willingly because she influenced his decision. She put a wedge between us and nearly ruined us. Elena is probably standing here hoping she's finally broken us.

Cunt.

"I remember it all, Christian. That doesn't matter, right now. What matters is this piece of trash standing in your mother's dining room," I reply.

"Elena, leave. It's not a request. Leave, and don't come back," Elliot growls.

"Oh, no, Elliot. Mrs. Lincoln needs to hear something from me." I square my shoulders, past the point of giving a fuck. "You heard Mia and Grace. If they don't kill you, I will. I know what you told Christian, but don't think it will tear us apart. We're married now, I'm carrying his child, and that means that I'll do whatever has to be done to protect my family. To protect Christian from the likes of scum like you."

Elena's mouth falls open.

I hear Christian gasp. Kate gasps. Mia and Elliot. Ray and Mom gasp. Who cares if it's how they just found out we're married and I'm pregnant, or because I just told this bitch I was more than willing to kill her. Their reactions mean shit to me. My attention is elsewhere.

"Shall I say it slower, Elena? Enunciate each word? I want to savor every word. I. Will. Kill. You. Your life means nothing to me. Everything is over for you now, but you already realize that, don't you?" I use my free hand to motion to the quietly enthralled crowd, lapping up this catastrophe.

"Annie, don't—" Ray begins in a whisper. He's suddenly at my side, pulling my hand off of Elena's arm.

"Go with Ray, Ana. You can't threaten to kill people," Christian interrupts him in a quiet voice. He finally frees Elena Lincoln from me and passes me to my father. Ray rushes me out of the room, and I hear Christian speaking in a stern and cold tone.

Ray's walking down the hallway, practically dragging me behind him. He doesn't seem to know where he's going.

"Ray just ahead is the living room," Elliot says from behind us.

I look back over my shoulder. He's holding onto an equally enraged Mia.

"This house is too damn big," Ray mutters. Before he can say anything else, we pass the staircase and are met by Carrick, who's standing on the threshold of the living room. Grace is sitting on the arm of the sofa with a glass of cognac in her hand. She looks calm. Too calm.

Elliot all but shoves his sister on the sofa beside their mother and runs his hands down his face. I've somehow ended up in a chair across the room. Carrick is now facing us. Both hands fisted in my pockets. Fury is radiating off of him. He sets his gaze on his daughter whose face is thunder.

"Mia, I'll tell you what I told your mother, and it's something everyone should already know. You can't threaten a person's life," He's talking as softly as he can. There are three dozen people at the other end of the house, and who knows if anyone is eavesdropping on us.

Eavesdropping is what started this shit storm.

Carrick continues. "And you never threaten someone with a room full of witnesses, for God's sake! You were raised by a lawyer. Hell, even if you weren't, you know better than to tell a person that you're going to kill them."

"Did you hear that, Ana?" Ray asks me, causing Carrick's neck to swivel towards us.

"You didn't?" Carrick sounds incredulous and angry.

"Oh, she did, all right, Dad. Ana here made physical contact, as well," Elliot answers, then groans.

"Afraid it's true. Christian tried to stop her-" Ray begins.

They're talking about me like I'm not here. I interject.

"Pardon me, but the 'she' and 'her' is in the room. And last time I checked, I'm an adult."

"Then you should behave like one," Ray replies sarcastically.

"I do, Dad. I believe tonight has called for..." I stop talking when I see Kate bound into the room. Christian is not far behind.

"Christian, if you're here, who's dealing with the pack of salivating wolves who've witnessed this fuck up?" Carrick asks, surprising me by swearing.

"Grandmother is. She's taken the reins and is currently herding the wolves out of the house."

"Yes, Mrs. Grey handled it perfectly and called it a night. Christian's right, along with Gretchen and Mrs. Trevelyan, they're calmly dealing with it. So is Carla," Kate says this all too quickly, and I don't have to look at her to know she's staring at me, dying to ask me about my memory.

I'm still mad as hell with her, with everyone, so I don't look at her. However, I do look at my husband, who looks like he was thrown under a bus. Well, I suppose you can say that he was.

I stand and make my way to him. Stopping short of being in his arms, I take his hands. We stare at each other, waiting. He's probably waiting for me to drop a bomb on him, and I'm waiting for him to just ask if I meant what I said.

Mr. Impatient Grey cracks first.

"Do you really remember?"

"Yes."

"What do you remember, Ana?" Kate blurts out from across the room. I keep my eyes on Christian's face and pause before answering.

"Everything," I reply, not to Kate, but to Christian. "I remember everything."

"Define 'everything', Ana," Dad asks, moving closer to me.

Carrick has drawn the doors shut and everyone's attention is squarely on me. My eyes dance across each of their confused faces.

"I remember meeting Christian. I remember our relationship, when we all went to Montana. My job..." I stop when a crystal-clear face forms in my mind and causes my blood to cool, and the pain in my head increase.

 _I see a man, a tall, red-haired man, an earring in one ear, and a cruel smirk on his lips. I'm in a room that's bright from fluorescent lighting and a refrigerator is buzzing in the background._

 _I'm cornered. He's got me cornered, one arm is pinned behind my back painfully. I'm trying to push him off of me, although it's useless. His breath is rank and he reeks of cigarette smoke._

I'm no longer in the living room with my family. I know where I am- the break room with Jack Hyde _._

 _He's leaning down, biting my ear and threatening me. My brain is screaming for Christian. I know that he'd protect me. I know he'd kill this man._

 _"I'm going to ass fuck you across this table, you little cunt. You've walked around this office shaking it in my face for months, just begging for me to taste it. Does Christian Grey go balls deep in that ass, Ana?_

 _A shiver runs through me. I continue to fight, stepping on his shoes, I spit in his face. It earns me a punch on the face, and my eyes tear up. I can't breathe. I can taste my blood._

 _Why did I tell Parson to wait for me outside?_

 _Stupid, Ana, stupid. Are Elizabeth and Claire still in the building? You should have told Christian about this bastard like Kate told you to._

 _Hyde rips my blouse open. Buttons fly, and he leers at my breast. With his free hand, he pulls up the cups of my bra and pinches a nipple hard, causing me to cry out. I sway from the blow to my face. I'm defenseless._

 _He's really going to rape me. Right here, right now. And the terror brings out a loud visceral scream. Hyde let's go of my arm and covers my mouth. I bite his fingers as hard as I can, and he punches me in my stomach. Air explodes from my lungs as I register the pain._

 _Suddenly, I hear voices, and they're quickly becoming louder. It's Claire and Elizabeth. Parson, too. Thank God. Pardon is coming. He will kill Hyde. There's no doubt that Hyde is about to die._

 _I continue to scream and try to get out of Hyde's grasp, but the sick bastard is too strong._

 _He heard the voices as well and curses under his breath._

 _"Looks like you got lucky, you slut. I'm not done with you, though. I'll get to you one way or the other," he growls._

 _Then, the door to the break room opens, and Hyde punches me in the face so hard that I feel myself flying backward. My arms reach out for something to grab a hold of, but there's nothing. And then it happens. I can feel it happen. My head makes contact with something hard - like concrete - and everything goes black._

* * *

Grace is on autopilot this morning. She's bustling around the kitchen like a tornado and I understand why. I'd offer to help or cook breakfast myself, but I'm too busy contemplating running through the glass patio doors. Head first.

Instead, I sit sandwiched between Kate and Christian. Looking around the table, I think of my mom and Bob, who, along with Ray, seem to have slept in. They're probably hiding from the insane Grey posse. At least they didn't scatter and run away like everyone else at the party. Rather, the fiasco. Custer's Last Stand. Mount Vesuvius, and its catastrophic eruption.

Carrick is hiding behind a copy of the Seattle Times. Christian and I are holding hands under the table, and Kate and Elliot are making inane small talk, while Mia is uncharacteristically quiet. No one dares to look at the others. Could this be any more uncomfortable?

Silence is overrated.

The elephant in the room is bigger than this house. I can't help but wonder what everyone else is thinking. My first guess is that they're thinking along the same lines as me: I really wish the floor would open up and swallow me.

I feel Kate nudge my knee underneath the table to get my attention.

"Did you say something?" I ask her.

"I said I can't wait to see the video of your wedding. Maybe we can all get together next weekend and watch it. I want to see your dress."

I return her fake smile with an equally fake one. Lifting my glass of orange juice to my lips, I notice my fingers are trembling. Kate's eyes are sympathetic. I'm not quite sure why. There are too many reasons that demand sympathy.

And empathy. Anger. Hurt. The list is endless.

"Of course. Whenever you want is fine," I mutter, eyeing Mia, who's staring out the glass doors.

She's pale, and there are dark circles under her eyes. It looks as if she stayed up all night. Her untouched coffee must be cold. I know better than to ask if anything's wrong. There's a lot wrong with everyone in this room, save Gretchen, who's both glaring at me and drooling over my husband. She looked like she was sucking on a lemon when she heard that Christian and I had married. Then again, when doesn't she wear that same expression?

I startle when the doorbell rings. Grace's head turns towards us, it looks like she's doing a head count to see we're all accounted for. Carrick's lowered the newspaper and looks expectantly at Gretchen, who leaves to answer the door.

Not a second later, Christian's phone vibrates. It's a text from Taylor, who, along with Sawyer and Parson, is on "Hyde watch" in and around the house.

Christian's eyes widen, and his lips are now a thin line. Pulling his hand from mine, he quickly replies. I can't see what he wrote, or Taylor's text.

"Is something wrong?" I ask. He doesn't answer me.

Christian's phone vibrates again. He reads another text and swears. Standing, with all of us watching him, he looks at Carrick.

"Dad, I don't know why, but -"

He's interrupted when Gretchen enters the kitchen.

"Mr. Grey, Dr. Trevelyan, there are two police officers here. They asked if they could come in," she says. "They're in the foyer."

Elliot and Carrick stand and follow Christian, who's already making his way around Gretchen. My heart rate accelerates. I look at Grace for directions. She's staring at the backs of her husband and sons. From the corner of my eye, I see Mia patting her messy hair down. She ties her robe tight around her body.

My brain is repeating the same question: did they find Jack Hyde?

"I wonder what this is about," Kate says, pushing her chair back and rising to her feet.

"Let's wait and find out," Grace replies.

"There's only one reason why the police would be here -" Kate stops, looking down at me. She places her hand on my shoulder and gently squeezes it.

Gretchen is back and she looks at Grace. "Mr. Grey wants me to get the detectives coffee, ma'am."

Detectives?

Grace pours the coffee herself, leaving Gretchen looking uncomfortable, eyes looking around the kitchen.

Grace places the coffee, creamer, and sugar on an expensive looking silver platter. Her shaking hands cause the cup and saucer to clink together. She hands it off to Gretchen, who hustles out of the kitchen.

As soon as she leaves, Grace goes about laying plates of pancakes and bacon on the table, not uttering a word about why cops are in her home. She takes her place at the table. Kate does the same, and she gives me a look that screams "What the fuck?" I remain mute.

Mia hasn't uttered a word and is absentmindedly placing pancakes on her plate.

Even Kate is eyeing her suspiciously.

I want to run from the room and demand to know if this unexpected visit from Seattle's finest concerns Jack Hyde.

We eat in a Twilight Zone-like silence. We all feel betrayed by the other and are walking a thin rope of weathered anger. This is ridiculous.

I drop my fork and clear my throat.

"What's going on here? Because the tension is palpable. We're family and shouldn't shut each other out over this. Yes, many things should have been handled differently, but they weren't, and we all need one another to get through this."

My words got their attention and Mia's eyes are beginning to tear up.

"Ana's right," Grace begins. "We are family. Families need to come together in difficult times, not drift apart. I know we haven't had the time to process this, but we have to do it together."

I'm crying along with Kate and Mia, who both keep apologizing. This is going to be an uphill battle and we can't fight it if these two keep holding onto guilt.

Carrick, Elliot, and Christian suddenly materialize. I can't figure out what's going on by their expressions; they're a mixture of anger and shock. Carrick looks at the four of us in turn, then he directly at Grace.

They step in closer to us. It's like a huddle in a football game. Elliot is squeezing Christian's shoulder, who looks like he's about to pass out. Kate, who's closer to my husband reaches out to touch his arm but quickly pulls away. She must have remembered his phobia.

"What's going on?" she whispers. "Tell us. You're scaring the hell out of me."

Elliot takes her by the waist and pulls her to the towards the patio doors. She opens her mouth, but when Elliot says something in her ear she closes it.

Christian is stock still, hands pushing his hair off his forehead. Still, when Carrick sits in Kate's empty chair, he drops in the one beside me.

"Carrick, what's going on? Grace presses him.

"The police are here to ask if we'd heard or seen anything out of the norm last night. We told them no, and Christian reminded them of his security and said they'd have caught any suspicious activity," he tells us. They've requested to speak with you, Ana, and Mia."

"Why are they asking if we heard or saw anything suspicious? Was a neighbor's home broken into?" I ask, looking at Christian.

He shakes his head. "No," he replies.

Kate throws her arms in the air, exasperated, and I wish she'd just shut the hell up for once.

She doesn't say anything, because Christian inhales deeply, and stands. He looks at his father helplessly.  
"Son, it's fine," Carrick says, sounding like he's talking to a wounded animal. "Kate, Elliot, come sit please."

Christian is behind me, both hands on my shoulders. I look up at his face and he's as pale as bone.

"Why do the police want to talk to us, Carrick?" Grace asks.

I narrow my eyes. Her voice is shaky and her hands, around her cup of coffee, are trembling.

Each of the men looks at us again and I swear they all swallow at the same time.

"They'd like to know about what happened at the party last night," Elliot says tentatively.

Kate's eyes widen. "Why?" she whispers.

"Because Elena Lincoln was found dead this morning," Carrick answers.

* * *

This is the last chapter that will re-hash the "Christian was brainwashed by Elena" storyline. I'm not re-visiting that overused blame game storyline.


	21. Chapter 21

_Please excuse all of the mistakes. It's not been edited._

* * *

 _Chapter Twenty-One_

 _Ana_

" _Can you confirm that you threatened to kill Elena Lincoln last night?" Detective Mills asked._

" _Don't answer that," Carrick told us._

"… _We'll see you at the station at three," Mills replied._

* * *

Hours later, I leave Carrick's study, with him, along with Ray and my husband in tow. His father brushes against me on his way to find his wife, who's been in the library with her lawyer, Jay Adler, who works for Carrick's law firm. Mia's somewhere in the house in with another partner of Carrick's.

Christian called in his personal attorney for when he's questioned. There aren't any doubts that he will be; after all, he's the center and catalyst of last night's train wreck. All of us are terrified that Christian's past relationship with Elena Lincoln, especially the fact that it began when he was fifteen, will become public. Christian's not quite panicking over the press finding out his dark secret, but I can tell he's worried. He's worried about being judged. No matter how many times we all tell him he has no reason to feel like that since he did nothing wrong, he refuses to change his mind. Although he's worried about himself, he's going out of his mind from his concern about me, Grace, and Mia. He's holding us together with a strength I only thought Superman possessed. He's the epitome of a fierce protector and unconditional love when it comes to those closest to him. Right now, Christian Grey isn't just my rock, he's also my hero.

Before this morning's marathon think tank, Mom and Bob volunteered to leave, having sensed a time bomb was about to blow up. I can't imagine the police cutting them any slack, and they expect a visit from Seattle's finest as well. Ray, on the other hand, refused to leave me, and Christian agreed that Ray should know the truth. He didn't want any more secrets in the family, and Ray is a part of the family. While Parson took Mom and Bob back to the penthouse, Ray stayed behind and heard the ugly truth. He was obviously shaken and patted Christian on the shoulder. That in itself was the most affection I'd ever seen Dad express to anyone other than myself.

Dad, along with Kate and Elliot, will more than likely be questioned. If that's the case, Carrick has yet another partner on standby. This almost feels like we aren't going to the police department. It's more like we're going to be executed. I'm shaking, images of having to take a lie detector test dance in my head. My earlier phone call with Dr. Rose didn't touch my anxiety. Her self-calming techniques are useless.

Once we're all in one room together, I note that the others look how I feel: scared shitless. Like Kate, I'm dressed down in a pair of jeans and a long sweater. Grace and Mia opted to wear dresses and heels, but that's their usual wardrobe. I suppose it doesn't matter what we wear. Clothes don't erase the fact that we threatened to kill a person – repeatedly, and within hours they're dead. All of Christian's influence, and Welch's less than legal machinations can tell us what happened to Elena Lincoln last night. What killed her? Suicide? Death by being a disgusting pedophile? Maybe her breast implants exploded? Once the truth is known, the next few hours have the potential of being quite unpleasant.

Christian went off on the police this morning, ranting that I was in 'no state' to be 'harassed' by anyone. He bit off the head of one detective when he called me, Miss Steele and not Mrs. Grey. Thankfully, Carrick said we'll all be interviewed separately, so I won't have to worry about Christian's outbursts over being asked questions he finds inappropriate.

It's awful to admit, but I don't care that she's dead. This world is a better place without another pedophile walking around. I won't tell the cops that, but it's how I honestly feel.

* * *

An hour later, Carrick and I have been put in a relatively small room in the police department. The table has a box of tissues, a few Styrofoam cups and a container that contains what smells like stale coffee. The police aren't trying to conceal the overhead camera that pointed directly at us. Upon arriving, we were all separated, much to Christian's displeasure. I'm not sure where everyone else is at. Carrick and I were placed in the last room located at the far end of a long hallway. I think back on all of the creepy Dateline shows I've watched and realize that I'm in an interrogation room. My stomach feels like I swallowed a rock and I want to rip the denim off of my thighs. I open my mouth to ask Carrick what's taking so long, but he subtly shakes his head. I immediately close my mouth. He scrawls something across a piece of paper on his legal pad. It says, "Don't volunteer any information. Only answer the question you're asked. Don't ask questions." He raises his eyebrows at me. I nod and watch him tear the piece of paper off and stuff it into his briefcase.

After a twenty-five-minute wait, I'm sure that was supposed to make me sweat, the door swings open and a petite blonde woman enters the room. I follow Carrick when he stands to greet her. She reaches out to shake our hands, and a smile is plastered on her pretty face. Her handshake is firm. I'd say she's in her early thirties.

"Mrs. Grey, Mr. Grey. I'm Tabatha Harlow, a homicide detective with the Seattle PD."

Homicide? My, God. Instantly, I feel light-headed.

Tabatha Harlow is soft-spoken and is wearing jeans with a tucked in khaki colored long-sleeved T-shirt. A gun is holstered on one hip, her badge on the other. Her brown eyes are hard and searching. She's not just a detective. She's a human lie detector holding a legal pad and pen.

"Please sit," she instructs us, gesturing at our chairs.

Carrick pulls mine out and I slide back down into it. Detective Harlow is scrutinizing us.

"I know this isn't the best circumstances to meet, but I thank you for coming in this afternoon," she says.

"You're welcome, Detective Harlow," Carrick replies.

I do what Carrick instructed me to: stay quiet unless spoken directly to.

"I hear congratulations are in order, Mrs. Grey," she throws a softball. "On your recent marriage and your pregnancy, of course."

"Thank you. We're very happy." How does she know that I'm pregnant?

Harlow lays the yellow legal pad she brought into the room on the table and pulls She's still smiling at me, although her eyes flit to Carrick.

"How are you, Mr. Grey? I haven't seen you in a while."

"I'm well. I trust you've been well," Carrick says.

"OK, Mrs. Grey, for the record, you are aware that our meeting is being video recorded?" She ignores Carrick's questions.

"Yes," I answer curtly. She's giving me an odd vibe. Her attitude is fake and her eyes are boring into my face. She makes me want to shiver. It's probably not her that's causing me my anxiety; it's probably all on me. I want to know what killed Elena Lincoln.

"Good." She looks down at her watch. "For the record, it's three-fifteen in the afternoon of April 8th, 2012. Present, are myself, Detective Tabatha Harlow, Mrs. Anastasia Grey, and her counsel, Mr. Carrick Grey. Let it be said that Mrs. Grey is here on her accord and volunteered to be questioned. She is currently not a suspect in a crime."

A crime?

Currently?

I'm currently not a suspect? Well, that's nice to know, but what in the hell happened to that awful woman?

"Mrs. Grey, are you here on your free will? No member of the Seattle Police Depart coerced you or brought you to the department against your wishes?"

"Of course, they didn't. I haven't done anything wrong," I reply.

Carrick makes a face at me. A none too pleased face. Shit. Only answer the question you're asked, Ana. My pulse quickens.

"Mrs. Grey, how long have you known Elena Lincoln?" she asks.

I frown and turn to look at my father-in-law for permission to speak. I also can't answer the question because I don't know.

"Ms. Harlow, I'm sure you've heard that my daughter-in-law was a victim of a vicious attack and it cost her a long period of amnesia. I'm not sure her answer is reliable, and I can't give you a time period myself."

She scribbles something in her notebook and taps her pen on it. I do believe she's smirking at us.

"I am aware of that. May I say that I heard you've regained some of your memory. I'm pleased to hear that, Mrs. Grey. Let's come back and touch upon that in a few minutes." Her brown eyes stare at Carrick. "Are you aware of when Mrs. Grey met Mrs. Lincoln?"

"If you're looking for an exact date, no, I don't," answers Carrick.

Clearing my throat, I sit up straighter and rub my stomach underneath the table. I don't think I like Tabatha Harlow for some reason. I just can't put my finger on why.

"Detective, I'd say I met Elena Lincoln last May," I tell her.

Her eyebrows rise. "Do you remember or is that a guess?" she asks.

"I'm not going to bet my life on it, but it was either May or June, but I know it was sometime after I became involved with my husband. That was in last May. Like my father-in-law mentioned, my memory hasn't been the greatest for a while now."

"I heard that it returned last night. . . I gathered it was quite the shocker, and came back suddenly. That must have been disconcerting." She continues to scribble and then looks back up at me.

I glance up at the camera. I wonder if someone is watching this in living color.

"It was," I reply.

"Can you describe your relationship with Mrs. Lincoln?"

She fucked my husband when he was fifteen and it lasted six years. Our relationship was peachy.

"We didn't have a relationship."

"Your husband and Mrs. Lincoln had been in a long-standing business partnership, correct?

"Yes,"

"They were also close friends." It isn't a question.

Is she leading me down the Yellow Brick Road to get to Christian?

"Where are you headed with this, Detective Harlow?" Carrick interjects.

"I'd just like to know how well your client knew Mrs. Lincoln. If her husband was friends with Mrs. Lincoln, I'd expect for her to know how close they were," she retorts, still scribbling. "I'd like to know if Mrs. Grey was also a friend of Mrs. Lincoln's."

Are you crazy, lady? I'm going to dance on her grave.

Carrick looks at me. I blink rapidly, wondering what to say because I'm not sure what to say. Hell, how close were they? I know they too fucking close to my liking, but is it OK to tell Harlow?

Hell no, it's not Ana.

My mind about last night is twisted. What do I know? Last night, I remembered Elena pushed Christian to hit me. No, I told him to hit me and he enthusiastically followed through due to her influence. Right? He listened to her. At least that's what I suppose happened because truth be told, we never discussed it last night. We never spoke of anything after I had my Jack Hyde induced panic attack, and never had the opportunity to talk about my memory this morning.

"You'd say you didn't have a relationship with Elena Lincoln?" Harlow gets my attention.

I want to laugh but lick my lips instead. "Detective Harlow, I wasn't a friend of Mrs. Lincoln's."

More scribbling.

"Your husband did have both a personal and professional relationship with Mrs. Lincoln? To your knowledge, of course."

Carrick sighs deeply. She's repeating herself; question after question is the same, only worded differently.

"Yes," I reply.

She pauses a beat before opening up the can of worms. Or rattlesnakes, rather.

"Mrs. Grey, your husband had a close relationship with another woman, one that you didn't share." She is staring me down. "Did your husband's relationship with Mrs. Lincoln cause problems between the two of you?"

Without thinking of the ramifications, I look across the table at Detective Harlow, and in a loud voice answer, "Yes, it caused a major problem."

Carrick drops his pen on the table. I don't dare look at him. Blood is whistling through my veins and I'm wondering why my brain doesn't have brakes. I shouldn't have said that. Why did I say that?

"Tabatha, let's take this question by question. Ana had just regained her memory last night, had a panic attack and needed to be sedated. Actually, you're lucky she's here at all," Carrick tells her with an undertone of irritation in his words. I'm sure he's irritated at me, not at the cop sitting across the table.

"I apologize, Mrs. Grey. It isn't my intention to stress you. I assure you. However, we have a woman who was found dead this morning, and people are going to have to answer some unpleasant questions. Know that while the questions aren't easy, it's not my intention to make this process unpleasant," she says quietly. Her frown turns into a small smile, and I finally see compassion shine through her tough exterior.

Returning her smile, I relax, not enough to believe she's my best friend, but enough to lean back in this uncomfortable chair. I'm still too scared to look Carrick's way.

"Did your husband's relationship with Mrs. Lincoln upset you?" she asks again.

Without hesitation, "Yes," I reply.

Detective Harlow flips several sheets of paper, stops at one, and I watch as her eyes slide across the paper. When she raises her head to look at me, I swear she almost looks apologetic.

"Mrs. Grey, at the beginning of last June, was there an incident between you and Mrs. Lincoln at one of her salons? The salon at Bravern Center, to be exact."

From the corner of my eye, I watch Carrick's posture change. We didn't tell him about that disastrous meeting, and now it's as if he's walking into a party an hour too late. He's mad but says nothing. Instead of talking, he grabs his pen and begins to scribble words of his own.

Shit.

"Yes, there was an 'incident' between the two of us."

God, I hate this 'Only answer one question' bullshit.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"Mr. Grey. . . Christian. . . was my boyfriend then. We'd only been dating a month or so, and I'd just returned from visiting my mother in Georgia. I mentioned that I wanted a haircut, and Christian told me he knew of a salon." My foggy memory reflects on what it sees, and I have to swallow the bile rising in my throat. "He didn't tell me he was a partner in the salon until we were already there. That's when Mrs. Lincoln appeared.

I was unpleasantly surprised to see her, for obvious reasons, and then come to find out Christian was in business with her. I hadn't known that, and I didn't like it. Mrs. Lincoln's attitude towards me was one of dislike, too. I suppose that was because my boyfriend had told her that she wasn't my favorite person."

The thought of Christian sharing our personal life with that bitch enrages me still.

"You mentioned you weren't pleased to see her for 'obvious reasons'. Can you expound on that comment?"

Oh, God. Why is she asking me something she obviously knows?

"I knew she'd had a sexual relationship with Christian."

Now Harlow and Carrick are writing at a furious pace.

"I see," she begins. "I understand why you weren't her biggest fan. But, Mrs. Lincoln also gave you the impression she disliked you, too? Was this the first time you'd met her?"

I nod at Harlow. "Yes, it was the first time I'd ever seen her. I'd heard a lot about her but had never laid eyes on the woman. And, no. Mrs. Lincoln didn't 'appear' to dislike me, she was quite vocal about her feelings. It didn't matter to me and I told her so. I told her that she disgusted me, and in my opinion was using Christian to bankroll her salons. It was quite ugly, and yes, it happened in front of customers."

Yeah, father-in-law of mine, I said more than you probably liked, but I'm done with the one-liners. I want to get out of here and see my husband. I know he's worried about me and I don't want him to.

"Do you think she disliked you because she saw you as a romantic rival when it came to Mr. Grey?"

I nearly laugh. "Hardly. If so, Christian was one hell of a liar. He said their relationship was long since over, and I had no reason to doubt him. Maybe she did still want him, but that's a question that I can't answer."

I wonder if that's why Elena hated my guts so badly. Did she want Christian, or did she want to continue controlling him?

"That's a question no one will ever be able to answer," Harlow mutters to herself. "What happened after the two of you had words?"

"I stormed out of the salon and got back into Christian's car."

"Was that the end of it? Did Mr. Grey care that you'd verbally, and publicly confronted his friend and former lover?"

Harlow, you just had to go there. Former lover. Nice touch. Is she trying to piss me off? Why, yes. I believe she is.

Did Mr. Grey care that I'd confronted his 'former lover'? Well, early the next morning, after I told him to, he beat my ass with a belt because the troll told him I needed to know my place. Not that I can tell you that, Harlow.

"Yes, he did. We argued, but it wasn't anything worth sulking over. It blew over a few hours later," I lie.

"You were in the hospital in a coma when Mr. Grey cut all ties with Mrs. Lincoln, right?"

"Yes.

Detective Harlow nods as she continues to note what I'm telling her. In my opinion, she should be asking Christian all of these questions.

Her cell phone begins to vibrate, she looks down at it and sends it to voicemail. Pushing her chair back, she crosses her legs.

"Mrs. Grey, where were you last night between the hours of eleven-thirty until five o'clock this morning?"

And finally. The money shot.

I swallow, wondering if she thinks I'm responsible for whatever it is that happened to Elena.

"Me and Christian, along with my parents and step-father, all spent the night at Carrick and Grace's home. I'm not sure what time I was given that Ativan, but I know I didn't wake up until sometime around seven this morning."

"I can corroborate her statement, Tabatha. Grace gave Ana a half of her anti-anxiety medication and Christian took her upstairs to lay down."

She nods, and before she can say anything, there's a sharp knock on the door. Harlow checks her watch, stands, and opens the door. A very handsome and muscular man is on the other side of the door and motions for her to step out of the room.

"Excuse me," she murmurs before closing the door behind her.

"Did I say too—" I begin, but Carrick interrupts me.

"What in the hell happened at Esclava, and why wasn't I told about it? Lawyers don't like to be surprised with information that they should know. Especially when the cops do know about it." He sounds terse. I'm sure he's also worried about how Grace is doing.

"Christian, for some stupid reason, took me there to get a haircut. I'd just arrived back in Seattle from visiting my mother. He told me he didn't think Elena would be there. When I finally saw the woman, I lost it. I told her what I thought about her. She was equally vicious, and then Christian whisked me out of there. It was awful."

I know not to elaborate because the camera about us is still rolling. Carrick nods and looked pained. I know he's hurting over what Elena did to Christian. No one in the family has had time to process this horrible information or even speak to Christian about the abuse he suffered. We're all heartbroken and instead of circling Christian with unconditional love and acceptance, we're all in a police station being questioned about the bitch who abused him. I know there isn't a single one of us who cares that she's dead, or doesn't believe she deserves it.

We must sit there for another twenty minutes or longer before Detective Harlow comes back. Her expression is blank as she sits down. She's holding a file. She stares at me for a few seconds before opening her mouth and knocking the wind out of me.

"Mrs. Grey, do you own a firearm?"

I look to Carrick. Where I'm sure that I look shocked and panicked, he looks as cool as a cucumber.

I shake my head. "No... I don't. I mean—"

"Ana," Carrick warns me. "What's this about, Harlow?"

Her eyes never leave my face. "It's about some new information concerning Elena Lincoln's murder," she answers. Her voice is as blank at the expression on her face.

Elena Lincoln's murder. Holy, shit. Someone must have shot her. Do they think that I killed her? My anxiety just went through the roof.

"She was murdered?" Carrick asks. "Based on the autopsy?'

Tabatha Harlow finally looks at him. She humorlessly smiles at him.

"Based upon the scene and the autopsy results that were just relayed to me."

"Would you mind sharing that information with me and my client? We've been kept out of the light since volunteering to this questioning, and throughout it," he replies.

Harlow rests her crossed arms on the table, leaning towards us. She looks at us and then again.

"Approximately seven-fifteen this morning, Elena Lincoln's housekeeper arrived at her home to bring her some of the clothes that had been at the dry cleaner. Mrs. Armstrong, Lincoln's housekeeper, let herself in using the key she's had for the past five years of working for Mrs. Lincoln." Harlow pours herself a cup of coffee, takes a sip and grimaces.

Mrs. Lincoln's car was parked in the garage, so Mrs. Armstrong had no idea if she was at home or not. She was immediately puzzled though because after unlocking the door, she didn't have to reset the alarm as usual. I know you have a security system, so if it's set, you understand you have to quickly turn off the alarm before it goes off and then reset it.

Naturally, Mrs. Armstrong found that odd, but nothing to be alarmed by. She called for Mrs. Lincoln a few times but didn't get a reply. Her first thought was that Mrs. Lincoln was still sleeping. Unfortunately for Mrs. Armstrong, as she made her way further into the house, she found her employer. On the floor of her living room. Dead."

The words hit me like a freight train and I gasp, throwing a hand over my mouth. Yeah, I don't care if Lincoln is in hell, but I certainly didn't want to hear that. Carrick squeezes my shoulder.

"My, God," he utters.

"Yes. The housekeeper is an older woman and quite distraught, as any of us would be," Harlow says, her eyes boring into my skull.

She knows I'm not distraught at all.

"What did the autopsy reveal? Obviously, she was shot since you're asking Ana if she owns a gun."

"Single gunshot wound to the chest, that hit her square in the heart. Time of death is estimated to be between two to four-thirty this morning," Harlow says after taking another sip of what must be disgusting coffee.

I'm guessing her words are a way to rattle me or sicken me. They accomplish both, but I refuse to lose my cool in front of this woman. I didn't kill that pedophile and would bet my life that no one in my family did either. Christ, they believe one of us murdered her.

"No other injuries on the body?" Carrick asks.

Harlow shakes her head. "Nope. There isn't a sign of any kind of struggle. Mrs. Lincoln may have known her killer since the alarm didn't go off and wasn't reset after the perpetrator left her home."

"Unbelievable," he mutters under his breath. His worry over Grace is now written all over him.

"It is," Harlow says, her attention back on me; I've sat there quietly pondering who in the hell would have murdered Elena Lincoln.

"Now, Mrs. Grey, do you own a firearm?" she asks.

"No," I reply.

"You didn't own the gun you used to kill Leila Williams with?"

Whoa.

"Hold up, Tabatha. You know damn well that Ana shot Leila Williams in self-defense," Carrick quickly says.

She nods in agreement. "I'm aware, Carrick."

"Then let's get to what you really want to ask my client."

"Mrs. Grey, what kind of gun did you use to shoot Ms. Williams with?"

Sitting her calmly is becoming unbearable. I'm nauseous and becoming dizzy. Is she going to try to pin a murder on me?

"It was a .357 Magnum. My father—"

"It was a .357 Magnum that was bought and registered by your father, Raymond Steele several years ago. From the reports of the homicide detectives in Portland, your father said it was the one you used when he was teaching you how to shoot a gun."

"That's true," I reply.

"And we're all damned lucky Ray taught Ana to shoot, or else Leila Williams would have killed her," Carrick says, angrily.

I think he's picked up on something that I'm missing.

Detective Harlow makes no comment. She's currently picking apart the now empty Styrofoam cup in her hand.

"Well, Elena Lincoln's autopsy is complete and there was no exit wound. The slug that killed her was dug out and sent to forensics this morning," she tells us.

"So, you've known this while questioning Ana over what's now inane bullshit?" Carrick loudly asks, startling me.

But Tabatha Harlow doesn't care to answer him or address his outrage.

"Mrs. Grey, do you know the whereabouts of that .357?"

Hell, no. I haven't seen that gun since I shot Leila. Didn't the Portland police have it?

"No. Shouldn't the Portland police have it?"

Carrick turns to me. "That's not the way it works, Ana. Once the investigation was closed, the gun was returned to Ray."

"Oh. I had no idea."

"Yes, Mrs. Grey, the gun was in your father's possession," Harlow says impatiently.

She makes it sound like Ray was carrying it. . . Oh, no. Carrick heard it too.

"Can you explain your statement, Detective Harlow?" he asks, almost cautiously.

"Of course. Let me fill you in on some details first. Indulge me."

"Certainly," he says.

"Ballistics found that the slug they pulled out of Elena Lincolns' body was one from a .357 Magnum."

The floor falls from underneath me as I realize what's going on. I know what she's going to say next, and I can't comprehend it.

"Mrs. Grey, we found out that the gun you had used to. . . defend yourself from Leila Williams, was a .357 Magnum." She pauses. "We knew we had to investigate further, which means we needed that gun, and we had to ask your father for it."

"And?" I can't help myself. Carrick grabs my hand underneath the table.

"And we did ask Mr. Steele, who told us that he'd brought it with him to Seattle. I suppose it's no surprise to you that your father doesn't go anywhere without a gun. Anyway, the gun was in the guest room he spent last night in."

"Did you execute a damn search warrant on my house without my knowledge, Harlow?" Carrick asks as quietly as one man can who's about to lose his shit.

She shakes her head. "Absolutely not. Mr. Steele went back to your residence and produced the weapon. Ballistics did their thing and found that the bullets that killed Williams, came from the same weapon that killed Elena Lincoln.

I understand what she's saying, but her words are like white noise. My heart is pounding out of my chest and my hands are pulling on my jeans. This isn't happening.

"In other plain words, the .357 Magnum you shot Leila Williams with, also shot Elena Lincoln." Harlow slowly says.

"Son of a bitch," Carrick exclaims. "Did Ray say the gun was in the same place as he left it? Had it been moved?"

"No. Mr. Steele states that it was right where he put it. In the top drawer of the bedside table."

I don't know what to say or think. How? Why. . . Who?

"Detective Harlow," I begin. "What happened? What are you trying to imply?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "I'm not implying anything. What I, and the rest of the people on this case are trying to figure out, is who shot Elena Lincoln through the heart." She's back to leaning on the table with her crossed arms. "Who murdered her with the .357 Magnum that belongs to your dad, which was in the residence you and your family spent the night in last night.

That family. . . rather, your mother-in-law and sister-in-law. . . and yourself, who threatened to kill Elena Lincoln last night."

"But I—"

"Anastasia, don't say another word," Carrick breaks in. "Are you arresting my client, detective?"

"No, I'm not."

My hand flies to my mouth and I gasp. "Did you arrest my father?"

"No, we didn't. We did ask your father, and he didn't hesitate to do so, to have his hands tested for gunpowder residue and swabbed his mouth for DNA. Of course, finding gunpowder residue after a long period of time, and after they wash their hands repeatedly and shower, is nearly impossible."

It becomes so quiet in this room, that if there were crickets in it, we'd hear them.

"Mr. Grey, I'd like for your client to submit to a DNA test and let us test her for gunpowder residue. Shall I leave the room and let you two—"

"Of course. Of course, I'll do it. Right now," I exclaim, my body is shaking so violently that I feel like I'll break apart. "Carrick?" I ask, trying to get his attention.

He looks like he's lost in outer space.

"Carrick?" I say once more.

"Yes, of course, she will," he answers in a distracted tone.

I jump to my feet, ready to rush out of the room, but stop when I see the contrition on Tabatha Harlow's face.

"What?" I ask, looking between the two, confused.

"It's nothing, Ana." Carrick and Harlow stand, staring at each other.

"Mr. Grey," she begins.

He shakes his head as he shoves his legal pad in his briefcase.

"Harlow, do you need to question me or be tested now with my daughter-in-law?"

"You can be tested now. We will need to speak with you afterward."

My shoulders slump from the weight of Elena Lincoln's murder. Not only has my father been put through the wringer because of it, now Christian's has as well. Shit, there's no doubt our entire family has, or is, going through this. Because we threatened to kill that evil bitch. We all hate her because she hurt Christian, robbed him of years of his life.

We all hated her.

But did one of us murder her?

* * *

I'm sure it's obvious that I know nothing about all things involving home security systems, police investigations or how bullets are matched up and if they were fired from the same weapon.


	22. Chapter 22

_Chapter Twenty-Two_

 _Christian_

* * *

 _*This chapter was constructed in a way that I've never thought of undertaking. I had a co-writer, the talented, mllezeau. I decided to write the chapter with her because I don't write lemons and doubt my ability to do one justice. Ms. mllezeau doesn't have that problem, and I knew she was perfect to collaborate with. After she agreed to help me out, I gave her a snippet of the very raw first draft, and she came back with exactly what I wanted and more. Once we both completed what we'd written, I was so impressed that I knew I didn't have to add anything and ended the story with her words. Thank you, mllezeau for helping this girl out. You rock._

 _Two more notes. Other than what mllezeau wrote, this chapter is written as Christian's inner dialogue. I also need to correct my error of writing that Seattle's police department would be investigating a murder that occurred in Bellevue. Bellevue is a town in itself, not just a suburb of Seattle. Since Elena was murdered in Bellevue, the BPD would be investigating the homicide, not Seattle. Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy! *_

* * *

" _Tonight, the Bellevue Police Department is still keeping quiet about their investigation into the murder of Elena Lincoln, a Bellevue woman who was found murdered in her home three days ago. Mrs. Lincoln, an owner of a successful chain of high-end beauty salons in and around King County, was found dead in her home the morning of April the eighth. KOMO has reported that Mrs. Lincoln's body was found by her housekeeper and that she had been shot to death, but we have failed to have that confirmed by the Bellevue Police Department. The upscale community of Bellevue has been rocked by the crime, and neighbors are shocked that such violence occurred in the midst of their community. KOMO has been told that the police have yet to find any evidence of forced entry and are awaiting the official autopsy results. Mrs. Lincoln was last seen alive at the home of Mr. and Dr. Carrick Grey, the night before her body was found. The Grey's are the parents of Seattle billionaire, Christian Grey, who, KOMO has learned was in a business partnership with the victim that ended recently…."_

"Shut the fuck up, asshole," I mutter, throwing the remote to my home office's television across the room. God damn morons. What do they know? No one is telling anyone shit. Fuck them.

Why doesn't anyone know shit? Because dead bodies tell no tales. Well, at least Elena Lincoln's dead body isn't saying anything whatsoever.

I groan and lay my head back against my leather chair. Finally, alone, I can think. I can process everything that I don't know, and everything that I wish I didn't know.

We've heard the crime scene hasn't given the police shit for information. There wasn't any sign of forced entry. But, the home alarm system's records, along with Elena's autopsy, are narrowing the time period of when she was murdered to be between two to four-thirty in the morning.

Murdered. Someone murdered Elena. No matter how many times I replay those words in my mind, or I hear those around me say them, I just can't wrap my head around it. It's unbelievable to me. A woman who played a major part in my life, and one I also came to despise, is dead. Not only is Elena dead, she was murdered.

She was shot straight in her black heart and was probably dead before she hit the floor. If not, she slowly bled out on her ice-white living room carpet. I've read the description of the scene her housekeeper, Ruby Armstrong gave; blood was pooled far from Elena's body. According to a source on the forensics team, nearly half of her living room carpet was cut out and brought into the lab. Not a single fiber or a bit of trace evidence was found on it. It's said to be clean enough to eat off of – if you don't mind your food mingling with human blood.

Armstrong's description is detailed, strange, and odd. Dad doesn't buy into the theory that anything about the crime scene sounds remotely odd. He says it's best described as being oddly staged. Staged. Even Detective Clarke, the man heading Jack Hyde's investigation, and our ear at the Seattle PD, uses the same word: staged. He also says he was told it was all clean. Too clean and too methodical. Too clinical, he'd been told, and again, used the word "staged."

I can't help but gather each word and string them together because they could describe the planning of a BDSM scene. Plan it. Stage it. Execute it. They're all methodical, cold, and clinical. Later, they're wiped away and usually forgotten about.

Like my fucked-up relationship with Elena Lincoln.

Ironic.

Elena's housekeeper, Ruby Armstrong, arrived at her employer's home at 7:15 on the morning of April the 8th, and found her face up in a pool of her own blood, on her living room floor. Elena was wearing a long black silk robe that covered matching black pajama pants set. Her slippers matched.

A robbery was clearly not the motive. Elena's two-carat diamond marquis ring was still on her right ring finger, and her jewelry box was untouched, as well as her safe. Elena had stupidly written its combination down and taped it to her desk in her home office. Who the fuck does that shit? Inside was a large amount of cash and more jewelry.

Not far from Elena's body was a vacuum cleaner that was still plugged into an electrical outlet. There wasn't a bag in the vacuum – obviously, the killer used it and then got rid of the bag, which was probably full of trace evidence. There wasn't a single print to be found, other than the housekeeper's, and that was on the alarm and house phone that she used to call 911. She immediately ran outside after making the hysterical phone call. There isn't even a fingerprint on the vacuum cleaner or its chord. Not a single track from a tire out on her lawn. There are no shoe prints outside or inside of her home, and no one saw or heard a thing out of the ordinary.

Today, the full autopsy report came back and Elena hadn't been sexually assaulted, and like her home, there wasn't a spark of trace evidence found on her body, hair, or in her clothing. Her artificial fingernails weren't even broken. Other than a bullet hole in her heart, Elena didn't have another injury on her. It's almost like she was given a bath after she was murdered.

Odd. Yes, odd. I'm not sure if it's the whiskey that has that word on repeat in my head or not.

The only concrete facts about the murder of Elena Lincoln are numbers. They're times. The time she left my parents' home and the records of her home alarm system. Mrs. Armstrong's 911 call. They're all numbers. Shouldn't I be able to come up with something based on numbers? I'm a genius with fucking numbers, for God's sake. Why can't I eliminate one member of my family from killing the bitch, with one of these goddamned numbers?

Elena arrived home from my parents around 12:21 AM. We know this because that's when the alarm was disarmed and reset. Things become interesting a little over an hour later because at 1:45 AM, she received an incoming phone call that lasted nearly seven minutes. It's interesting because it was an unknown caller, and the phone that the call originated from has been found to be a burner phone. A piece of shit burner phone. What in the fuck?

Then, things become really interesting. To investigators, not Elena, because this is the time her killer must have gained access to the inside of her home. Elena disarmed and reset her alarm system at exactly 2:27 AM. A mere forty-two minutes passed before the alarm was once again disarmed, but not reset. That's more than likely the exact time Elena's killer left her home. They also left the back door open a fraction.

They got in, killed her, slipped out the back door and didn't bother to shut it. But, really, why would they give a fuck? Their work was done. At the murder scene, rather. They had a more important job to do in everyone's opinion: get back into my parents' home and place Ray Steele's .357 Magnum back into the bedside table where he'd placed it.

We also have a home alarm system, and I know it was set by my security. Even with four armed men patrolling the grounds, as well as two being inside the house, someone knew the code to my parents' alarm system and got around Taylor's team. It's so very troubling. Fuck troubling. It's devastating to sit here and actually wonder if a Grey did this. Was it a member of our family who knew the code? Did a family member know where security was stationed? They would have known Sawyer and Parson were outside of my old bedroom where Anastasia was sleeping. They would have known Ryan and Reynolds were practically hanging from the trellis underneath the room's windows.

Did they take a huge gamble and return the gun once they got back inside of the house? Did they have the balls to just slip into Ray's room, stride to his sleeping form and put the gun back where they found it? Or did they wait until the morning before the police arrived at the house asking questions? The general consensus, mostly based on the fact that Ray says he's the world's lightest sleeper, is they didn't put the gun back until later.

That leaves the mother one fucking question: who in the hell did it? Who wanted the police to suspect that some member of my family shot Elena to death? Wouldn't it have made more sense to just get rid of the gun? It wasn't going to take very long to match the gun having fired the bullet that killed Leila Williams to the bullet that killed Elena.

Jesus. Why did every woman that I love threaten to kill Elena the night she ends up dead, with Anastasia putting the first two threats to bed? She was out for blood, and unfortunately, later on, Elena provided some.

Either someone doesn't watch NCIS, or they didn't give a fuck. Either way, they're a dangerous mother fucker, or as my dad bitterly spit, "They were being eaten alive with white-hot rage." I didn't think twice to have to know that was directed at me.

Thanks, Dad, but I didn't need to be reminded of how this is all my fault.

"Leila Williams'', I grit out through my teeth and throw back what's left of my whiskey. Another fuck-up of mine that's thrown shade and suspicion onto my family, especially onto Anastasia. Not only did the gun that killed that fucking bitch kill Elena, the cops found Leila's contact information on Elena's cell phone and in an address book. An address book that listed Leila's residence being at Escala. Elena Lincoln was aware that the woman who was trying to kill me – kill Ana – lived floors below us. She knew. I can honestly say that despite finally being able to admit that she molested me, I was shocked to hear that. Especially since it has muddied the already muddy lies I had told the cops months earlier about Leila – how no one knew her – how I knew nothing of her life before me. Now, I'm even more of a liar, and I have no way of worming my way out of this mess.

Add a piece of shit who no one will ever believe again to my resume.

The police now know that I met Leila through Elena, but by the grace of a God that I don't believe in, none of the previous fifteen were in Elena's goddamned little black book. I curse when I think of the questions I was asked once the Bellevue PD found Elena's little den of inequity.

My, God, what a shit storm. I had to admit to my BDSM sex life for the past seven years to a bunch of investigators who tried not to look shocked. Thank fuck that I dismantled and got rid of my playroom when Ana took me back last year.

Until my dying day, I'll swear that the case's lead investigator, Mark Griffin, is a Dominant. He wears the attitude like a cheap suit and doesn't try to hide it. I had to turn the volume down on my own personality so I didn't upset Anastasia. She's already having one panic attack after the other and is terrified that Ray is going to be arrested.

I've only confided this to Taylor, but Dad told me he is worried that Ana is going to be the one who is arrested. I can't allow that to happen.

I know she didn't do it – she was out like a light next to me all night – but she's the one with the strongest motive, and she's already proven that she knows how to use a gun, not to mention the gun was one she's already killed someone with.

Jesus, what I've put that woman through. The things I've asked of her. The things I've done to her and how I've hurt her. I don't deserve Ana. I don't want her to give me the best of her while I give her the worst of me. No, no one will ever convince me I deserve this woman or our child. Not even Anastasia.

Everyone now knows about my sordid past with Elena. Well, with the exception of Carla and Bob. After they were questioned and went through the ritual of being eliminated as a suspect in a homicide, they stood around with puzzled expressions, while my mother, always the excellent hostess, even when her family is falling apart, managed to keep Carla away from the drama, with Ana, Mia, and Kate's help, of course, by providing her with a spa day until yesterday, when they were permitted to go back to Savannah. Looking at us like we were possibly a branch of the Manson family, Carla and Bob flew out on the jet while our family let out a sigh of collective relief.

My entire family stayed in the room while I told Detective Harlow and her partner, that asshole Detective Danny Ingle, about my six-year relationship with Elena. The fucker wouldn't stop flirting with my wife. He asked her how she felt after every sick little revelation about my past and Elena Lincoln. I offered that he should go into psychiatry due to his 'how does that make you feel, Mrs. Grey?' questions, but that jealous angry side of me nearly landed my ass in cuffs. For what, I don't know. Maybe the dick just wanted some one on one time with my obviously pregnant and gorgeous wife. Maybe I should have kept my smart ass shut or killed him. No, fuck him; he isn't worth killing.

Scrubbing my face with both hands, I go over the gut emptying questions. Most were ones that only Elliot knew the answers to. All were words I nearly couldn't formulate, much less say out loud. I did, though, and only because my wife and family stood by me as one. As hard as it was to hear my mother and sister quietly weeping as more of the ugly truth came out, it felt like a cleansing. A baptism of sorts. My redemption?

" _Excuse me," Kate quietly told the group gathered in my parents' living room. I shook my head at her solemnly, causing Elliot's eyebrows to rise. She froze on the spot where she was sitting beside Ana._

" _No, Kate, you don't have to go. You're already a part of this family. Stay. If not for Ana, please stay for my brother," I murmured. I felt bile in the back of my throat as I looked from her to the recorder taping every word that was said. What could be used as evidence._

 _She said nothing, although, I saw her grip on my wife's hand tighten, and her lower lip trembled. It was a side of Katherine Kavanagh that I didn't know existed._

" _Mr. Grey, why didn't you volunteer this information when you were first questioned?" Griffin, the lead investigator barked._

 _His attitude had Leigh Songer, my personal attorney, bristling all afternoon, even when he did make valid points._

" _Detective Griffin, I don't believe my client was asked—"_

 _I shook my head at Leigh, quickly shutting her up – and pissing her off at the same time._

" _I've just become able to admit and vocalize that I'd been raped by a woman at the age of fifteen, Griffin. I'm not exactly thinking straight or feel like sharing the fucking news with the world."_

 _Elliot pushes his hair off of his forehead, his face red as a tomato from anger. "Lay off him. He's been through enough, and doesn't need your shit attitude right now," he sneers, earning himself a death glare from Dad and my lawyer._

But, they never let up on me. They didn't cut Elliot any slack when it came to why he never told our parents about me and Elena.

" _Mr. Grey, you mean for us to believe that you and your brother kept this secret because he feared your family would stop loving him?" Detective Ingle pressed._

" _Yes. Because I love him and I didn't want to hurt him!"_

" _And what lengths would you go to in order to protect your brother?"_

That line of questioning led to Jason having to hold Elliot back from attacking the bastard, and then he was threatened with being arrested. Shortly after, Detective Tabatha Harlow excused Elliot, who begrudgingly left the room with Kate holding him to her.

On and on words poured from their mouths. Questions that were hard and biting, the ones that told me these cops had already made up their minds about me. I wasn't a good man; I was a pervert. I'd allowed and gotten off by having an older married woman take a harsh cane to my back. I'd grown into a man who got off doing the same to women. It didn't seem to matter to the police that the women were willing and enjoyed it. It didn't mean fuck all that it was consensual and safe.

Consensual and safe, Grey? Fuck you. You enjoyed hitting them. You craved it. Your dick was rock hard while you gagged women, tying them up with binding ropes to make them helpless and at your mercy. Do I dare feel sorry for myself and weep for what Elena took from me? These cops and their judging eyes are asking me what I took from those fifteen women. And it's a good question. It's a valid one. What's the fucking answer? Look what I took from Anastasia during those weeks I was trying to make her my sub. I didn't even know she was miserable. How many of those subs were miserable and didn't dare open their mouths to say so?

How many, Grey? You can't answer that question. Your thoughts are too heavy and tethered to your heart too tightly to become words right now. You're still just one big thought. You're just too many unanswered questions. You're a man who has made life decisions that could have driven someone who loves you to murder. How did your life become this? Why did you choose the road you did, Grey? The BDSM. Was a life as a shut-in, secretive, asshole worth it? Was my life so awful that I deserve to be judged so harshly?

It must because the police wouldn't' allow my family any rest. They never let go of the who's, the why's, the when's. The veiled accusations. They pounced on all of them.

" _Miss Grey, why did you threaten to kill Mrs. Lincoln?"_

" _How did you discover about your brother and Mrs. Lincoln, Miss Grey?"_

" _Why didn't you tell your parents when you found out what Elena Lincoln had done to your brother?"_

" _Dr. Trevelyan, did you ever suspect your friend was molesting your son?"_

" _Looking back, do you blame yourself, Dr. Trevelyan?"_

" _Mr. Steele, you didn't hear anyone enter or leave the room you were staying in?"_

" _The gun was in the same place as you put it? Are you sure, Mr. Steele?"_

" _Did you tell your daughter you brought a firearm to the Grey's that night, Mr. Steele?"_

" _Mr. Steele, did you become angry when you found out about your son-in-law's previous lifestyle? Do you believe he's physically hurt your daughter?"_

" _Mr. Grey, what was your initial reaction when your wife told you what Elena Lincoln had done to your son?"_

" _Mr. Taylor, your team didn't report anything out of the ordinary? How many years have you been head of Christian Grey's security?"_

" _You had how many men guarding Mrs. Grey that night, Mr. Taylor? And she never left the bedroom?"_

" _Mrs. Grey, what did you think when you found out your husband was into BDSM?"_

" _Is that alternative sexual life something you practice together, Mrs. Grey?"_

" _How old were you when your father taught you how to shoot a gun, Mrs. Grey?"_

" _How did you feel towards Leila Williams? Were you jealous of her sexual relationship with your husband?"_

" _How long had it been since you'd fired a gun before you killed Leila Williams?"_

" _And you knew you were pregnant when you went after Ms. Williams. Isn't that correct, Mrs. Grey?"_

" _You must have been very angry to go after Williams knowing you're pregnant, Mrs. Grey."_

" _Mrs. Grey, are you still having blackouts? Do you do things that you can't remember?"_

I open my eyes and look around my office. It's quiet. In fact, the entire apartment is quiet. The only thing loud and busy is the inside of my head. It's spinning and dancing. My nerve endings are frayed and I'm on edge. I can't sit here any longer. I'm no Agatha Christie; I can't write a murder mystery, and I'm certainly not going to be able to uncover who killed that bitch. I'm driving myself crazy about this bullshit and remembering the questions the police drilled into my skull concerning Ana. I'm scared my father is correct. They're going to try to pin this on her.

They're going to try to take Ana from me.

I have to see her.

I quickly walk back to the bedroom I share with my wife, needing to see her and make sure she's here, and that she's safe.

Opening the door, I find her laying on my side of the bed with her head on my pillow, and my heart swells. Her eyes are closed, but I've spent too many nights watching her to know she's not in a deep sleep.

The moonlight is peaking through the windows, making it appear as if she's glowing. I look down and see the small swell of her belly, where our child is growing. I make my way to her and sit on the bed, putting my hand on her stomach. Her eyes flutter open and her blue eyes lock with mine. I soak her in. She's laying there in nothing but one of my white tee shirts, hair wildly spread out over the pillow, face scrubbed clean of any makeup, and, yet, she's the most stunningly beautiful woman I've ever seen. She's chosen me and promised to be by my side in good times and in bad. This time it's bad; this time we're in a shit storm.

She moves over and makes room for me to join her in bed. I quickly slide under the covers and pull her to me, holding her close, and inhale her sweet scent. My hand finds the hem of the tee shirt and I raise it so my fingers can stroke the soft skin right below her navel.

My mind drifts to all of the things that I've put her through in the short time that we've known each other; I've caused her so much pain by trying to control everything around her. The biggest irony of all is that now everything has spun completely out of my control. Carrick warning me that the police could possibly arrest Ana nearly causes me to panic. No one can take her away from me, but even as I say that to myself, I realize that there are things that even I can't control; there are things that my money can't buy.

The fear almost overtakes me. I turn my head, and before Ana can say anything I kiss her. I kiss her with as much passion as I can. I pour all of the fear and uncertainty that I have into that kiss; I'm willing her to understand that I would do anything to protect her and our child; I would go to any lengths to keep them both close to me.

She tries to climb on top of me, but I roll over and pin her underneath me. I never break the kiss. I continue to ravish her with my mouth and taste all of her. I break the kiss only long enough to pull the tee shirt over her head. I see her breasts bounce before I take her mouth again, and savagely claim it as my fingers reach up and pinch one of her nipples. She whimpers into my mouth as I roll her other nipple between my thumb and forefinger before giving it a hard pinch. She whimpers and reaches up to touch my chest. I feel her soft hands explore my body before I take them away. I hold them above her head and press her into the mattress.

My eyes find hers, willing her to understand what I need. I will her to understand what I'm asking for right at this moment. Something I've never asked of her.

"Yes," she pants. "Please." She understands.

"Get on your hands and knees. Now," I command, and without question, she obeys.

I quickly rid myself of my clothes, get behind her and look at her naked ass. I have second thoughts seeing her like this, completely at my mercy, and pregnant with my child. I touch the small swell of her belly, unsure of how to proceed.

"I want you to. Please," she says huskily. My wife knows exactly what I need right now and is willing to submit.

She never ceases to surprise me.

I slowly kiss her ass and stroke her wet pussy, but I realize that I want to see her face as I pound into her. I want to see her come as she gives me complete control of her body and total control of her pleasure.

"Get on your back." Once again, she does as I say without complaint.

I grab her legs, pulling them apart. Seeing her spread out, wet and wanting me, submitting to me is almost my undoing.

I put my head between her legs and taste the wonderland between her legs. I inhale her sweet before tasting the sweet nectar between her legs. This woman, who was a virgin barely a year ago, has turned my entire controlled world upside down. She, unbeknownst to her, has controlled me for far too long. If only for a little while, I'm taking back control.

I look at her pussy, spread out and wet for me. I take her legs and spread them as far apart as they are able to go without hurting her. Divide and conquer is what this position is referred to in the BDSM world. I take her tee shirt and mine to tie both hands to her calves. She's tied up, spread wide open and completely at my mercy. I want to gag her, but I resist. Maybe next time, I can't help but think.

I fist my cock and put a finger in her soaking wet pussy, and I'm rewarded with the soft murmuring of my name.

"You don't have my permission to speak," I say through gritted teeth. Before she can respond, I push into her without any warning. I hear her gasp as I push all the way to the hilt, filling her completely. My balls smack the base of her ass. I don't give her any time to adjust. I simply grab her hips and pound into her over and over again. I'm relentless in my thrusting. I dive into her as deeply as possible, only to pull out and pound into her wet pussy again.

She moans, and I slap each side of her buttocks hard, silencing her and to show her who's in charge. I bring my thumb to her clitoris and I rub it as roughly as possible, all the while going into her as deeply as possible.

She's doing her best to remain quiet, but I know she wants to scream out my name. I slap her ass again, reminding her to remain silent. She arches her back and tosses her head from side to side, but since she's been tied up and been ordered to shut up, there's nothing else she can do.

Thank you for giving this to me, Anastasia. Thank you for trusting me.

I lay my body on top of hers and continue to thrust in and out as she thrashes underneath me, moaning and gasping for breath.

"Look at me," I order and our eyes lock almost instantly. I hold her gaze as I pull out and in, stretching her tight little pussy.

I can feel her start to quiver underneath me, but she holds back. I know she's waiting on me to tell her it's OK to come. I feel her moist pussy, and I harden, even more, filling her completely.

"Please," she begs.

"I always know what you need, Anastasia. Come, baby." As soon as the words are out of my mouth, she convulses underneath me, forgetting my orders of silence, and calling my name over and over again.

I pull out of her, still hard, and untie her as quickly as possible. As soon as she's untied, I lay back on top of her and enter her slowly.

I kiss her slowly and lovingly on the mouth, letting her suck my tongue. I kiss the side of her neck, and squeeze her breasts in my hands, squeezing her hardened nipples.

"Christian," she whispers, lost in our passion.

"I know, baby. I feel it too," I tell her while I slowly fill her up completely, over and over again.

I pull out a bit and push back in. I do it again and she calls out my name. I put my hand between us and rub her clit with my index and middle finger, driving her wild. I pull out almost completely again, causing her to say no, and push back in.

"You're such a good girl, Ana. My beautiful good girl," I say as I drive into her.

Our bodies are now covered in sweat and sticking to each other. I don't pause in our lovemaking, thrusting into her repeatedly, filling her small hole with my dick. I kiss her collarbone and breasts, taking a nipple into my mouth, sucking it hard.

"You're mine, Ana. Mine. No one will take you from me," I whisper in her ear.

"Mine," I grunt, thrusting into her as hard as I can.

"I love you, Christian," she says as she reaches up and strokes my face, shoulders, and chest. My heart swells, and I capture her lips once more, kissing her slowly and sensuously.

I feel her start to shatter once again, and my own release takes me by surprise. I call out her name as I empty inside of her. The orgasm overtakes my body as I shudder on top of my wife, filling her with my seed.

I collapse on top of her, our bodies sticking together with our sweat. I slowly pull out of her and pull her back to my chest. Too tired to clean up, I put my arms around her waist and kiss her shoulder.

"Everything's going to be ok, Ana," I softly promise as I kiss her temple.

"I believe you, Christian," she murmurs, right before sleep takes her over.


End file.
